


Filed under 'Ominous'

by DmitriMolotov



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Burning, Claustrophobia, Crushing, Darkness, Death, Dismemberment, Dissociation, Dysphoria, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Exhaustion, Eye Trauma, Gen, Gore, Graphic Description, Gunshot Wounds, Hanging, Hunters & Hunting, Infection, Isolation, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Paranoia, Self-Destruction, Self-Hatred, Self-Immolation, Self-Mutilation, Spiders, Stitches, Strangulation, Temporary Character Death, Torture, Trust Issues, Vomiting, Whump, Whumptober 2020, thalassophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:00:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 20,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26749888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DmitriMolotov/pseuds/DmitriMolotov
Summary: A collection of statements and short stories for Whumptober 2020, following Jon and Martin through the fear domains of the apocalypse.S5 adjacent/divergent, tags will be added with each new chapter and individual chapters will have explicit content warnings in the notes at the start.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 25
Kudos: 85
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Choke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Benjamin - a victim from an unusual domain of The Buried.  
> Prompt No 1. LET’S HANG OUT SOMETIME - Hanging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Hanging, strangulation, graphic descriptions, temporary character death.

“Hold on just a minute,” Jon said with a slight gasp, holding up his hand.

“Everything ok?” Martin asked, jogging a few steps to catch up to him. 

Jon nodded, coughing to try to clear his throat to no real avail. It wasn’t a physical sensation that was bothering him. 

“We’re coming up to a domain of the buried. Just… it’s not exactly what you’d typically think of.” Jon rubbed at his throat as if trying to loosen a tie that wasn’t there.

“Jon, what does that mean?” 

Jon swallowed hard. “Well, sometimes it’s also called ‘Choke’.” He tilted his head in the direction of a winding road. “Come on, it’s just up there.”

As they rounded the corner and the skeletal-limbed trees thinned out to a clearing leading to the town, Martin suddenly understood.

The town - if it could be called such - was thick with fog and made up almost entirely of wooden gallows, each with a lone figure hanging from them. They swayed gently in eerie stillness. 

“I see what you mean,” Martin admitted, swallowing as he felt his mouth dry up.

Suddenly, one of the figures kicked out, sending their body swinging wildly as they gurgled and croaked for breath. 

Martin nearly had a heart attack as he reeled backwards, scampering for the treeline again before Jon caught his hand.

“It’s ok, they can’t hurt us.”

“I thought they were dead! We have to save them!”

“Martin… we can’t. You know we can’t.”

Martin’s eyes darted back to the figure, which had fallen still again. “We can’t even try?!”

Jon shook his head sadly. “There’s nothing we can do for them.”

Martin hissed a breath in and sighed it out.

“I do have to, uh…” Jon grimaced. “I should... _take notes_.”

Martin sighed again. “Yeah, yeah I know.”

“You can wait by the trees, just stay where I can see you.”

In the distance, another figure began to kick out and swing. 

Martin winced. “Please try to make it quick, this place is _really_ unsettling.”

“I’ll try,” Jon lied, knowing he had no control over what he took from the scene in front of him - what the Eye took in. It did make Martin feel better though and that was the more important thing. 

He waited until Martin was out of earshot but still in his eyeline and opened himself to the Beholding.

_Benjamin has committed the gravest of crimes, or so he is repeatedly told. There is no doubt in his mind that these accusations are true, but he cannot recall himself committing them, or even the events themselves happening at all. Even so, he is resigned to his fate and when his time comes, he steps up to the gallows with an assurance that justice will be served._

_It isn’t until the black cotton bag is over his head and he feels the coarse scratch of the rope against his neck that everything snaps into place._

_It isn’t until the hangman cinches the noose tight around his throat and he feels the floor drop out from under him that he thinks to cry out in protest._

_It isn’t until the rope catches the weight of his body by his neck that he knows his death is not going to be quick._

_And it isn’t until his legs instinctively kick down seeking purchase, that he realises his hands are bound and there is nothing he can do to stop the rope from digging in further._

_Panic sets in as his legs continue to find nothing beneath them, his movements only serving to cause the rope to tighten more, his breath cuts off completely and the blood pounds in his head. He coughs and sputters but cannot swallow, his tongue begins to feel thick and heavy in his mouth, and the pressure builds behind his eyes. His chest heaves with effort but there is no relief as nothing makes it past the knot at his neck. Panic congeals into fear with the knowledge that he is helpless to swing and strangle and die alone at the gallows, convicted of a crime he did not commit._

_Benjamin’s agony is drawn out as his struggles slow and he finds an almost equilibrium swaying with his shuddering attempts to draw breath as his body twitches involuntarily and his brain slowly shuts down, releasing him to a cold and dark embrace. But there is no mercy as kind as death in this place and his dark reprieve is short lived._

_Benjamin is cruelly thrust back into the embrace of the rope, invigorated with breath and blood anew as he is doomed to repeat the agonising, choking, suffocating dance again and again and again._

Jon took in a deep and shaky breath, trying to shake off the suffocating residue of fear as he turned to look for Martin in the treeline. He spotted him, sat down on a rock, fiddling with the strap on his backpack, very deliberately not looking at the dozens of bodies ahead of him. 

_Fair_ , Jon thought to himself as he began to make his way back to Martin. 

Martin stood as he saw Jon returning. “Are you ok?”

Jon nodded. “M’fine. I just… I don’t like the buried and yet it manages to find fun new ways to manifest.”

Martin’s eyebrows furrowed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jon sighed. “No, I’m… I’m really fine, I’d rather not dwell on it. It’s time we moved on anyway.”

Martin threw a single glance back at the gallows and nodded. “Yeah, probably a good idea. Lead on.”


	2. Reliving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon opens up about his experience of being kidnapped.  
> Prompt No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY - Kidnapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Kidnapping, unwanted touching, emotional trauma.

_ Jon had barely stepped onto the curb when two large, nondescript men approached him.  _

_ “‘scuse us,” said the first in a thick, Cockney accent. _

_ “Are you Jonathan Sims?” The second finished in a nearly identical tone. _

_ “Yeah, wh–?” The recognition hit him all at once. “Oh, sh–” _

_ He turned to flee but was immediately caught with a punch to the gut from the first man that winded him and he staggered back into the waiting arms of the second, who caught him by the shoulders and gripped him tightly. _

_ “Miss Orsinov wants to see you.” _

_ “She says she changed her mind.” The pair tag-teamed their sentences as they pushed Jon towards a waiting van. _

_ “No, I – I –” Jon could only weakly protest as the first man slid open the door, the second one pushing him inside roughly and slamming it closed. Jon found himself in darkness in the rear of the van and heard the front doors open and close, then the engine started up.  _

_ “Oh god.” _

Wrapped in the memory of being terrified, alone and vulnerable, Jon missed a step and stumbled slightly, snapping back to reality and catching himself before he could properly trip, instead falling back into his rhythmic march.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Martin asked again, the third time in about an hour. 

Jon debated shrugging it off again, but he knew that this was the last time Martin would accept a glib  _ “It’s fine, nothing’s wrong” _ before it was going to become a problem. Jon sighed and slowed down so Martin could walk alongside him. He reached out to take his hand and Martin squeezed it reassuringly.

The Buried always made him feel unsettled, reminding him of the cloying closeness of the coffin, and the last domain had been unpleasant to say the least, but that was only a small part of what was bothering him.

“Jon? What’s going on, talk to me,” Martin urged gently. 

Jon paused, turning to face him, taking Martin’s other hand in his and rubbing his thumbs over the back of Martin’s hands. 

“We’re-” Jon licked his lips- “ _ I’m _ …  _ avoiding  _ a domain.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “Why? I’d have thought we’ve seen the worst of what the apocalypse has to offer by now. If you’re worried about scaring me-”

“It’s not that,” Jon interrupted, shaking his head. “It’s just... It’s not even that bad really, I mean i-it is, but it’s far from the worst we’ve seen and I have no doubt you could handle it just fine-”

“Jon,” Martin cut him off. “What is it?”

Jon took a deep breath and looked up at Martin. “It’s The Stranger.”

“And it’s worse than the merry-go-round? Worse than… her?”

Jon winced. “Not exactly, but sort of? ...It’s bringing up some unpleasant memories. Things I thought I was ok with, or at least over.”

Martin hummed. “You never talked about it, you know? I think you wanted to, at the start. God, it feels like a lifetime ago, things were so different then.”

Jon’s face fell. “They were.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Martin asked cautiously. 

Jon frowned. “You know, I think I do, if you don’t mind listening?”

“Of course!” Martin put his hand on Jon’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I’m here for you.”

Jon took his hand and leaned into it, pressing it to his cheek. “Thank you.”

He took a moment to collect himself. Martin waited patiently, holding his hand and intertwining their fingers. 

“It was hard from the start - being kidnapped from Georgie’s, just as she thought I was moving out of her apartment, so I knew she wouldn’t think to come looking for me. I hadn’t been going to work regularly, so I wasn’t sure if anyone there would notice I was gone, or if Elias would say anything. I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t some scheme of his…” Jon rubbed his face with the back of his free hand. “I guess it was just hard not knowing. Even when I realised what was going on, I felt abjectly helpless. Orsinov made it very clear what she wanted me for.” He shuddered. “It was a  _ month  _ that I was there. The whole time I was gagged and tied up. I don’t… I don’t remember eating, though they must have given me something. They did want me to stay hydrated though. I remember feeling weak, sleeping or perhaps just passed out and then in the moments I was awake…” He squeezed his eyes shut and took a few shaky breaths. “I- I know it sounds ... _ mild… _ but you have to understand how violating it was for me. I don’t… I’m not used to that sort of… it just made me extremely uncomfortable in a way I wasn’t expecting.”

He rubbed his arm, pushing his jacket sleeve up to touch the skin underneath, thankfully no longer the overly supple softness the Circus had left him with.

“Jon?”

“You know, looking back, I almost would’ve preferred that they physically tortured me. But no, they wanted my skin and she was just appalled at the condition I’d let it get in. They were very attentive to making sure it stayed in the best condition. I couldn’t say if it was daily, but it was frequent enough. They were oddly gentle. I mean, their application was, they were ruthlessly efficient in stripping and moving me if I wasn’t quick enough to oblige them. Most of the time they left me bound to a chair, but as the ritual grew closer they got more… thorough. There was a day I was left hanging by my wrists because they needed to ensure they got ‘all the spots they missed’.” His eyes had taken on a vacant expression, staring into the distance as he remembered. “Orsinov was furious when she returned. She didn’t want them to damage her ‘gloves’.”

“Oh god, Jon, I’m so sorry. I know, I know, there’s nothing we could’ve done and I still feel bad and I know it won’t help but…” He gave up his explanation and just pulled Jon into a tight hug. Jon quivered in his arms, not quite openly sobbing, but on the verge of it. 

“After all that time, being reduced to a body part - a piece of a ritual that would spell the doom of much of life as we know it... I was completely ready to give up,” he said in a voice barely a whisper. “It was almost a relief.”

Martin bit back tears and hugged him tighter. 

“And now look where we are.”

“Jon, it’s not your fault. We’re going to do something. We’re going to try to fix this.”

“I know.” Jon melted into Martin’s firm embrace before pulling back and looking off into the distance again and bit his lip.

“It’s ok, we’ll go around.” Martin pressed his lips to the top of Jon’s head. 

Jon smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

“You’ll be ok?”

Jon nodded. “A bit weary, but I’ll be ok, there’s a vast domain ahead.”

Martin’s brow furrowed. “Feed your god-”

“-or it’ll feed on you.” Jon finished. “Yeah. C’mon, let’s keep moving.”


	3. Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Shelly as she treads water.  
> Prompt No 3. ALT - water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Thalassophobia, treading water, open water, unseen threats.

“I know it’s a domain of The Vast, but I wasn’t expecting it to be so ...vast.”

Jon hummed and kicked a rock off the edge of the cliff, watching it plummet to the waves crashing over the craggy rocks below. 

“How big is it?” Martin asked, looking out over the expanse of blue-green water for any signs of an end.

“Three hundred and sixty one point one million kilometres squared,” Jon replied without hesitation. “In places it’s almost thirteen kilometres deep.”

Martin tried to fathom the huge numbers but it left him at a loss.

“It’s basically as if all the oceans in the world emptied into this one domain,” Jon explained. “It’s big enough that everyone in it will never have a clue that anyone else is there at all.”

“Oh god,” Martin muttered under his breath. “I mean, logically, I knew there were people in there but I guess I didn’t really think about it.”

Jon nodded. “There are a  _ lot  _ of people out there. Lost souls cast adrift.” 

Martin took a few steps back from the edge of the cliff as the wind picked up, tousling his hair and pulling at his clothes. Jon didn’t seem bothered, continuing to stare out at the horizon. “Do you need to... ?”

“I- yeah, yeah I do.” Jon laughed weakly. “I’m exhausted -  _ famished _ actually might be a better word. Skipping that last domain probably wasn’t the wisest of moves.”

Martin frowned. “It was for the best at the time… Anyway, you do your thing. I’ll be over here.” He wandered away from the cliff edge, leaving Jon standing at the precipice, turning his gaze to the lapping waves, freezing waters and the souls that dwelled within.

_ Kick. Kick. Kick. Kick… the motion is automatic as Shelly sinks and rises above the glassy black surface of the water, in time with the rolling waves. The water is not still enough to be considered calm, but too placid to quell the hope that if she just keeps kicking, just keeps her head above water for long enough that perhaps she will be rescued. _

_ The ocean stretches in all directions with no hint of land or life on the horizon. The insignificance of her own existence presses defiantly against her surroundings, like at any moment it may be swallowed up by the sheer volume of the sky and sea around her. _

_ The salt water stings her eyes and her muscles ache from the long hours of treading water. Her legs cramp with effort and she ignores the threat of the unknown beneath her for long enough to allow her aching limbs a reprieve, filling her lungs with as much air as they can hold and floating on her back. She stretches her exhausted legs out long and looks up at the dark and foreboding sky, thick and heavy with low grey-green clouds that makes it feel as though the ocean extends above her as well as below. _

_ Unquantifiable nothing. _

_ It would almost be boring if it wasn’t for the fact that it feels like somehow the vastness of the nothing was relishing in its immensity, drinking in her insignificance, making her smaller just by impressing how enormous it is. _

_ It would almost be only unsettling if it wasn’t for the growing sense of unease that the water below her isn’t empty, but concealing something unfathomably vast and living within its depths. _

_ Shelly feels the water swell around her, shifting as though moved by some unseen mass. The way it burbles beneath her sets her teeth on edge and makes her start to tread water again, just so she might be able to catch a glimpse of what dwells below. She cannot see anything, however, through the dark of the depth of the water, and is left only with the impression of something huge and hulking, lurking just below where the light can penetrate.  _

_ It is only a shadow in the dark - barely even that, a contrast of deep shadows on deeper darkness, but it is there, it is real and Shelly has no doubt in her mind that it is alive. If it is aware of her presence is a mystery, but she would not be surprised if it were so huge and she so insignificant to it that she barely registered as more than a gnat, a tiny insect to be waved away, or killed with a swat and no further consideration. _

_ Shelly is completely focused now on the shifting darkness beneath her.  _

_ Kick. Kick. Kick. Kick. _

_ The shapes stop changing and only darkness remains. _

_ Kick. Kick. Kick. Kick. _

_ The darkness grows. Not grows - deepens. Darkens. As if it’s getting closer but slowly. _

_ Kick. Kick. Kick. Kick. _

_ Shelly stares intensely into the abyss, now wholly convinced that the abyss is also staring back at her.  _

_ Kick. Kick. Kick. Kick. _

_ It’s a mouth. _

_ Kick. Kick. Kick. Kick. _

_ The idea washes over her like one of the waves. Despite not being able to see the edges, despite no evidence that there is anything beneath her at all, Shelly knows the growing darkness under the surface of the water, still so far from her, is a mouth. The creature to which it belongs can’t possibly exist and yet she stares into it, knowing this truth. There is no way she can hope to swim out of this shadow, there is nothing she can do to escape the gaping maw of destiny.  _

_ The motion is automatic as Shelly sinks and rises above the glassy black surface of the water, in time with the rolling waves.  _

_ Kick. Kick. Kick. Kick...  _


	4. Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Anwar, a survivor trapped in a collapsed building.  
> Prompt No 4. RUNNING OUT OF TIME - Collapsed Building

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Claustrophobia, crushing, suffocation, physical injury, blood (implied), wishing for death as a release.

_ Anwar can hear the screams of those around him, but he’s so pinned in and pained he can’t even muster the strength to scream back. Debris presses in from every angle, a huge crossbeam crushing his right arm underneath his body and weighing it's bulk across his chest. The only thing stopping him from being completely crushed is where it's held up by the stubborn, partially crumpled metal frame of an air conditioning unit to his left. His left arm is unresponsive, his shoulder radiating white hot waves of pain when he gives it his attention. He tries not to think of it. _

_ Dust from the crushed plasterboard of the once flimsy walls accumulates around his nostrils, drying the skin and mucous of his sinuses and making every life-sustaining breath in all the more excruciating. His mouth is cotton dry and his throat is raw. _

_ Anwar's leg twitches involuntarily, pressing something sharp into the skin of his inner thigh and he cries out a thin shriek of pain. His clothes offer no protection against the constant crushing pressure of the debris of the building and the shattered glass of the modern décor cuts him at the slightest motion. _

_ A rumble - an aftershock - rips through the remains of the building, shifting the rubble around him and tearing screams anew from unseen voices in what once were rooms beyond. The crumpled air conditioner groans but does not give way. Anwar isn't sure if he's relieved or disappointed. The movement has displaced some of the furniture and debris trapping his legs, enough so he can bend his knee and roll his hip. As he does so, he feels the sharp slice of glass cut deep into his calf and a warm wetness wick up his trouser leg. He grits his teeth against the sensation and keeps moving. If he can roll onto his side he might have a chance to try to free his arm and clear some of the dust from his face. He doesn’t dare hope for more than that yet. _

_ Somewhere in the distance, a woman sobs.  _

_ Anwar envies that she has fluid enough in her tear ducts to cry as his own eyelids grate against the orbs in their sockets like sandpaper. He bends his knee and rolls his ankle as much as he can through the rubble around his leg, ignoring the sharp sting burrowing deeper in his calf. His foot searches for purchase, finds it against the remains of an armchair, wedged solidly in crumbled brickwork and framing. He pushes against it, contorting his body and for a brief, shining moment he feels the pressure on his arm give way, blood painfully flowing back in alternating waves of tingling numbness and needling heat. Urged onwards by this tiny victory, Anwar pushes harder, gains a few millimetres more of movement and with one final push attempts to slide his arm from under him- a sharp crack breaks his concentration as the wood beneath his foot splinters and his leg thrusts backwards, his body rolls, now twisted beneath the beam. His ribs now bear the brunt of the weight of the beam and he struggles for breath, each inhale stunted by the inability to expand his lungs.  _

_ He panics. _

_ His breaths come in short, sharp, painful bursts that disturb the fine dust around his face, blowing it into his eyes. He shuts them. There was nothing to see except the darkness, but now with them closed, an even more acute sense of vulnerability engulfs Anwar.  _

_ Just as the building has.  _

_ He begins to feel lightheaded - not enough oxygen is reaching his lungs, his brain - for a split second, Anwar knows this and he is thankful. _

_ Then the building shakes and shifts again and the beam moves just enough for him to take a full breath once more. _

_ Though he cannot muster any tears, Anwar begins to sob. _

Jon took a deep, steadying breath, letting the usual mixed feeling of disgust and satisfaction that came from witnessing the effects of the entities flow through him. 

Once settled, he trotted over to where Martin was waiting, studiously examining his feet. 

“A bit like whiplash that was,” Jon said when he was within earshot, “a domain of The Buried immediately following a domain of The Vast. The fear that you’ll somehow be lost in immense endless nothing, then suddenly the weight of everything crushing in on you...” Jon shuddered, again trying not to recall his time in the coffin. 

“It must be horrible in there,” Martin said plainly, glancing back at the crumbled, screaming remains of the apartment building. 

“It is.”

“Is there… anyone to, y’know, smite?”

Jon smirked. “I’m afraid not. It’s ...it’s almost just fear and suffering for the sake of it at this point.” Jon bit his lip, his gut twisting with the knowledge that it also served his own purpose, sustaining him and The Eye.

“If we ever pass another domain of The Buried again, it’ll be too soon,” Martin mused.

Jon nodded agreement. “I can’t say I’m a fan either… let’s keep moving. There’s nothing we can do here.”


	5. Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Amaya as she hides from monsters in the dark.  
> Prompt No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING? - Failed Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Darkness, unseen threats, shadows, paranoia, being hunted.

“Jon… Jon, I can’t see anything!” 

“Oh, sorry!”

In the darkness, Jon’s hand found Martin’s and he squeezed it reassuringly. 

“I’m right here, I won’t let you go, I promise.”

Martin gripped it like his life depended on it as he faithfully followed Jon through the pitch dark. “I can’t see anything in here, I have no idea how you can possibly know where we’re going.”

Jon let out a low chuckle. “I can’t see anything either.”

“What?! Then-”

“How do I know the way? I just do. You just have to trust me.”

“Oh god…” Martin groaned, now less than thrilled with the idea of literally blindly following his boyfriend through the apocalypse. 

They stumbled on like that for what felt like hours, made slower by the changing terrain beneath their feet. They had to slow down to stop from tripping over unseen obstacles. 

“Y’know, when the Eye decided to lead you through a domain of The Dark, it would’ve done well to lead you to a torch or something first.”

Jon sighed. “That’s not how it works. The Eye is responsible for my knowing everything, but it’s not  _ leading _ me anywhere… not exactly anyway. I chose to bring us through here, knowing it would be dark, but, thankfully, I also Know the way out.”

Martin rolled his eyes and he heard Jon chuckle. 

“ _ Jon… _ ” 

“Sorry.” There was a long pause. “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t think it would be quite so slow going.”

“It’s really not,” Martin said with a grimace, “but it’s ok. At least we’re moving and it’s not the worst place to be.”

Something dashed in front of them. Martin couldn’t see it but he heard the hurried footsteps, the gasp of breath - they were running. 

_ “...Jon?” _

Jon hissed a breath in. 

“What are they running from?” 

Jon hesitated. “Nothing that can hurt us.”

_ “Jon.” _

“Fear of the dark is rarely being afraid of the darkness itself, it’s more what’s in the dark… or what  _ could  _ be in the dark.”

Martin swallowed. “Well, which is it in this case? Because I feel like that makes a difference.”

“It doesn’t-”

“It does to me!”

“Martin, I promise nothing in this domain will hurt you. We just need to cross through it and the sooner the better, regardless of what’s in it.”

“Well  _ that  _ I won’t argue with.”

_ “Ah.”  _ Jon stopped abruptly.

Martin groaned. “Really? Now?”

“When you’ve gotta go…” Jon teased. “I’m sorry. Just sit right here and I’ll be right back as soon as I can.”

“No! I am not losing you in the dark, Jon!”

“You won’t lose me!”

“Jon, please, I would be legitimately scared if you leave me here alone.”

“Martin I-” he sighed. “Ok, um… sit down and plug your ears. I’ll be right here the whole time.” 

Martin sat down with his knees drawn up to his chest and prepared to cover his ears. Jon sat behind him, pressing his back against Martin’s. 

“Trust me when I say you really don’t want to be eavesdropping on this one,” Jon said emphatically. 

“Right.” Martin dutifully blocked his ears and instead paid attention to the vibrations of Jon’s voice on his back. 

When Jon was completely sure Martin had actually blocked his ears, he cast his gaze into the darkness and began. 

_ There are monsters in the dark.  _

_ Amaya knows this as well as anyone.  _

_ Run and hide, run and hide.  _

_ Amaya is well beyond the years of childish flights of fantasy, of dashing from the light switch to the bed to pull the covers up to her chin lest the monsters catch her.  _

_ Amaya is an adult and she knows the monsters don’t care if you’re under a blanket or counting to ten or holding your breath, they will find you all the same.  _

_ The darkness presses in around her always, ever present, unrelenting, an inky black void that conceals so much. It is not only darkness, however, for what is darkness without light? To an outsider it appears pitch dark, but Amaya has adapted, Amaya sees the light where no light should be, sees the faintly darker shadows cast by the light that is not there. The shadows cast by things that are not there. Things that should not be there.  _

_ Monsters hide in the dark. _

_ The darkness is a funny thing, it takes away but in turn it also gives. To Amaya it gives cover, a sense of security, a chance to hide from the monsters that seek her out, and it gives her imagination.  _

_ Imagination to see the monsters from which she flees. She follows the shapes of their almost imperceptible shadows carefully, as best she can, to make out the elongated, twisting limbs that they possess. The limbs end in razor sharp talons or long, curved claws or prehensile tentacles that reach for her as she runs, only looking back to see the shadow still follows. She thinks she glimpses gleaming fangs that gnash for blood and flesh and fear. She thinks she hears raspy breathing, whisper soft footfalls in sand, slithering over gravel, scratches of bone on rock.  _

_ Monsters hunt in the dark. _

_ Run and hide, run and hide.  _

_ Amaya flees. Finds the darkest nook in the darkest room and hides, waiting, holding her breath, counting to ten, gripping a blanket that isn’t there and holding it up to her chin.  _

_ But the monsters can still find her.  _

_ A crash behind her so real it makes her spin on her heel only to be blinded by the brightness of a single source of blue-white light. Her eyes tear up at the sudden change and she has to look away. She scans the shadows for monsters, but as to be expected, they have retreated from the light. In the light, she is safe. _

_ She basks in this knowledge of sure safety for a minute, but only a minute before the light begins to retreat. Amaya panics, stays in the glow cast by the light, following it towards the source - if she can reach it, she’ll be safe. She squints her eyes and runs for the light, her escape from this dark and tormenting nightmare.  _

_ As the light gets brighter, something shifts in front of her. _

_ It is too late that Amaya realises.  _

_ Monsters don’t just hide in the dark, they  _ _hunt_ _ in the dark. But not all who hunt stalk their prey.  _

_ Some monsters have learned to use bait.  _

Jon shook himself. He elbowed Martin gently in the ribs. 

“I’m done, we can go now.”

Martin snorted sarcastically. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay here in the dark a bit longer?”

Jon took his hand again so they wouldn’t get separated. “No, no, I’m good.” He paused, thinking about what lay ahead. “Although…”

Martin hummed a noise of curiosity.

“...Never mind, let’s just go.”


	6. Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Luci, a victim trapped in a domain of The Flesh.  
> Prompt No 6. PLEASE… - “Stop, please”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Torture, body horror, blood, dismemberment, implied cannibalism.

“What are these rooms?” Martin asked as they wandered down the grim and echoing corridor.

“Cells,” Jon replied simply.

“What… Why cells? I thought you said this was a domain of The Flesh.”

“It is. It feeds on the fears of individuals - an endless cycle of torture where victims are disassembled piece by piece and…” Jon glanced over his shoulder to see Martin had turned pale and bit his tongue. “Right. Sorry, I’ll spare the details.”

“It’s torture.”

“Yes.”

Martin sighed, defeated. “I hate this place.”

“I know.” 

Martin rolled his eyes. “I know you know. I just… I’m going to have a rest, ok? While you… find inspiration to do your monologue.”

Jon barked a chuckle at his choice of words. “I’ll try to keep it brief.”

Martin sat down on the floor with his back against one of the cells while Jon peered through the small window of the one across the hall, spying the small and mangled figure being suspended in the middle of the room.

_ Luci feels his shoulder pop from the socket with a tear as the chain holding his arms above his head is ratcheted up another notch, lifting him almost off the ground completely. His frame is slender but his muscles and tendons can only take so much before something gives. His feet flex downwards, the bloodied nubs where his toes once were instinctively reaching for support and sending bolts of pain up both his legs. The skin of his wrists is raw beneath the shackles that encircle them. If he had any fingers left, they would be numb.  _

_ The creature behind him makes a noise that might be a laugh, dark and thick and throaty. Luci gasps a breath and lifts his head as much as the position will allow him, trying to catch a glimpse of the creature. If he is honest with himself he doesn’t know if he truly wants to see it. From what he can hear, from the heavy footsteps, the way it places rough, calloused hands on him, from the way it can pick him up, twist and contort him with barely a strain of effort, it is a beast of a thing. But it is not the thing that he is scared of in this place.  _

_ As if tapped into his primal fears, the door to the cell swings open with a loud creak drawn out from the unoiled hinges. Luci tries to swallow with what little remains of his tongue. The figure that approaches is much more his own size and shape, but the feet and fingers are too long and from the shadow of the hood it wears pulled down over its face, a forked tongue darts out to lick dry and cracked lips.  _

_ Luci spots the scalpel and immediately starts struggling, but he’s gripped and held by the unseen beast behind him, so he cannot fight back. The smaller creature extends the blade towards him, hovering it in front of his body, deciding what to strip from him next.  _

_ It seems to settle on a section of his flank, just below his ribcage. Without warning or hesitation the creature cuts into him, the sharp blade slicing through tissue of skin and fat and muscle with ease. Luci feels his blood run cold and he lets out an unintelligible, guttural noise of protest. The sharp sting of steel slices his skin. He squeezes his eyes shut against the sensation, but it does nothing to block it out.  _

_ A flap of skin falls back with a wet slap against his hip, warm blood trickling down the side of his leg to pool and mingle with the older stains on the cold concrete floor.  _

_ The creature lets the flap of skin hang open and begins butchering the flesh beneath.  _

_ It’s not until a silver tray is placed beside him, just within view, that Luci realises the beast is no longer restraining him, but he is too far in shock to fight back. He allows himself to be carved up, watches helplessly as neat rectangular strips of dark red flesh are cut from him and laid out on the tray. A treat for later.  _

_ The smaller creature has moved behind him and is working on excising the flesh just below his ribs there. Each slice is pain but dulled by the woozy sensation overtaking his consciousness. He knows by now that this place will not abide sleep nor allow the fantasy of the escape of unconsciousness, or death. He knows he will be forced to witness every moment of this torment, as well do his captors.  _

_ His left side is bloody, the skin now completely removed from his navel to his spine just below the ribs and laid out neatly on the tray. His fat and muscle is stripped back as well, exposing the organs pulsating beneath.  _

_ The next incision goes deep into the fascia and Luci gasps for breath as his diaphragm spasms in protest. The creature ignores his struggles as it has many times before and continues to slice away, digging deep into his abdominal cavity, tearing blood vessels from connective tissue and working fingers around his organs. They settle on his left kidney, feeling the plump and satisfying give of offal beneath the too long fingertips. Several more deft flicks of the wrist, the scalpel flashing as it slashes through the connective tissue holding the organ in place and then a satisfying tear and the kidney is placed neatly on the tray next to his flesh.  _

_ It looks good enough to eat.  _

_ Blood pulses from the severed vessels and oozes out of the wound, flowing freely down his body. Luci wants to cry out, to beg and scream for the creature to stop, it has taken enough already.  _

_ The creature instead bends down and turns its attention to Luci’s knee. It examines the joi- _

_ “Jon!” _

Jon felt his heart skip a beat as he was cruelly torn from the trance of witness by the sound. He blinked a few times and shook his head to snap himself out of it, his head spinning.

“Jon! Stop, please!” Martin’s voice broke with the effort, as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. He was very pale and at his feet there was a puddle of what Jon knew was bile. 

It took a moment for Jon to realise. “You were listening?”

“I couldn’t help it. You started and I wasn’t ready- I-I had no choice!”

Jon’s face contorted with guilt. “Oh Martin, I’m so sorry.”

“That was horrible, Jon. I… I just... I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to forget that feeling.” He gagged again, but managed to hold it back, covering his mouth with one hand. 

Jon went to put a hand on his back, but Martin flinched away, still clearly distressed and Jon withdrew as if he’d been slapped, burning with guilt.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Jon knew there was nothing he could say or do to make it better right now, but Martin needed to be away from this place as soon as possible. “Let’s go, right now, we’re getting out of here, ok?”

Martin nodded, straightening himself out and trying to shake off the sick feeling in his gut. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”


	7. Starved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Feed your god, or it will feed on you." Unfinished statements take their toll on Jon.  
> Prompt No 7. I’VE GOT YOU - Carrying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Collapse, metaphorical starvation, exhaustion.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that Jon, it’s not helping.”

“Sorry.”

_ “Jon.” _

Since interrupting the last statement Jon hadn’t been able to satisfy the Beholding and he could feel himself growing weaker and more agitated.

“Right… I’m just… I’m tired.”

“Tired? Doesn’t the Eye, y’know… prevent that?”

“In theory, yes, but I guess it’s uh,  _ unhappy  _ with how I’ve been feeding it.”

“Is this because I cut you off?”

“Sort of?” Jon admitted somewhat sheepishly. “But also… we’re taking a slightly longer route around.”

“Jon, you’re being ominous again.”

Jon sighed. “I don’t mean to be.”

Martin jogged a few steps to catch up to him and caught his arm. “Jon, please, if you need to take us through a domain, do it. It’s clearly taking its toll on you.”

Jon winced again. 

“Why are we avoiding this one?”

Jon’s head buzzed with white noise and awful knowledge. He felt the compulsion of the Eye pressing on him, forcing his gaze to turn to the nearest domain and suffering, urging his feet to follow. With all his will, Jon fought back. 

He wouldn’t lose Martin again. 

“Jon? Why are we avoiding this one?” Martin asked again, more firmly, temporarily snapping Jon out of his trance. 

“It’s a domain of The Lonely.” 

Martin swallowed hard, a look of vague fear crossing his face for a moment.

Jon gripped his head as the buzz intensified, punishing him for his unwillingness to oblige it. 

“Where is it?” Martin asked, looking around the barren landscape. 

Jon pointed vaguely to the left. A faint fog hovered on the horizon. 

Martin shivered. “And what’s next?”

Jon laughed weakly. “The Hunt. It would be quicker to go through the Lonely, but well… you get the idea.”

Martin nodded. They continued walking. 

The buzzing picked up in Jon’s head again, sharper and piercing, a high-pitched whine of protest that cut through his nerves. 

“Jon, you don’t look so good.”

Martin’s voice faded out with the world as he felt himself falling through space. 

~

He was vaguely aware he was moving, rising and falling with footsteps. He opened his eyes long enough to realise he was slung across Martin’s shoulders and they were walking in the direction he had pointed out. 

“Martin-”

“Jon, save your strength,” Martin insisted, “you collapsed. You need something to sustain you.”

“Not-” Jon’s mouth was so dry- “not if it puts you at risk.”

Martin grunted with effort as Jon tried to shift his position. “Tough. You’re not in a position to decide.”

“I can walk,” Jon insisted, clearly struggling to lift his head.

Martin shook his head and kept walking. “Nope.”

Jon sighed and rested his head back down on Martin’s shoulder, thankful for his small stature for the first time in a long time. It made him easier to carry, less of a burden on Martin, however it also meant they would make it to the Lonely. Jon continued to fight the Eye’s compulsion, but it left him weaker still and it wasn’t long before the world began to fade back to black once more. 

The last thing he could remember hearing was Martin’s voice.

“Hold on, Jon.”


	8. Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon finds himself alone in a domain of The Lonely.  
> Prompt No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? - Isolation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Isolation, self-hatred, anxiety.

Jon blinked to bring the world back into focus, but it was stubborn and refused. A thick fog swirled around him, and in the distance he could have sworn he heard waves breaking. Fainter still, he could hear sobbing. 

Martin. 

Jon was filled with the sudden and terrible knowledge that he was alone. Martin had carried him to the nearest domain because he hadn’t satisfied The Eye and he needed to feed. 

Jon gritted his teeth. Finding victims in the Lonely was difficult when the domain tried so hard to make sure they were isolated completely, but he needed something to keep him going. More than that though, he needed to find Martin. 

An icy hand gripped his heart as he tried to shake off the numbing feeling of his exhaustion and focus. He couldn’t risk losing Martin to the Lonely again. 

The Eye would either lead him to Martin or the sustenance he needed to keep going and find him. He felt the awful knowledge tug at the edge of his consciousness and let it guide him. 

Oh.  _ Oh no.  _

_ He cannot remember his name but this does not concern him.  _

_ He is alone. He’s lost. He was travelling somewhere. He was with someone. He cannot remember their face. It was someone he is close to. But that can’t be right, he isn’t close to anyone, is he? He drives everyone away.  _

_ He cannot remember his name, but he remembers that his friends and family are dead or have left him. Why can he remember that? The knowledge stabs at his heart like a shard of glass, the knowledge that he is alone, and that it is his doing.  _

_ He cannot remember his name. Why can’t he remember? He tries and it twists the shard of glass in his heart. It hurts to remember. His identity is intrinsically attached to some painful memory. He hates who he is. Perhaps it is better then, not to remember. To allow himself to just be, alone, where he cannot hurt anyone anymore. It is calm here.  _

_...but no, it isn’t is it? _

_ Something tumultuous exists in the fog, a turbulent and terrifying truth. He is alone, but it is not quiet, nor is it calm. The waves crash against the rocks in his mind, breaking with a steady rhythm of self-loathing.  _

_ You’re not enough. You couldn’t help. You can’t fix this. You’re nothing to him.  _

_ The fog rolls over him, embracing him in the cold and damp. _

_ He cannot remember his name, but he desperately wants to refute what his mind tells him is the truth. Love is not enough to save you. _

_ He cannot remember his name and this makes him afraid.  _

_ Giving in to the fear, he slumps to the ground, pulling his legs in close, as if they will provide some semblance of company. He cowers and whimpers in the cold, clinging fog, talking to himself to fill the emptiness around him. “I’m scared. I’m scared and I’m alone and I just want it to stop. Please. I can’t do this all alone. I’m not enough on my own.” _

“Jon? Jon is that you?”

_ The voice cuts through the fog and for a split second, he thinks he remembers. Jon. That’s him. Isn’t it? His name? _

“Jon! Jon where are you?”

_ Martin. The other name comes to him instinctively and it seems warm, comforting. He repeats it aloud to see how it feels on his tongue.  _

_ “Martin...” It leaves his lips with a casual confidence and comforting familiarity.  _

“Jon!”

_ Yes, Martin, that’s familiar. He knows that name. It’s someone close to him. Someone he was travelling with. Someone who loves him. Someone he loves.  _

_ “Martin…” As he says it again, the world swims back into focus.  _

“Oh god, Martin!”

“Jon!” Martin ran towards him and Jon lurched forward into his arms to meet him, almost unsure he was real at all. 

He shook off the cold tendrils of the fog of The Lonely and melted into Martin’s arms.

“Oh Jon, I thought I’d lost you. I just set you down for a second to see if there was anyone around and then the next thing I knew I was on my own. I was so worried. Are you ok?”

“I’m ok. I’m ok.” Jon hugged him tighter. “I… I forgot how easy it is to let things get into your head when it’s not filled up with infinite knowledge.”

Martin scoffed a laugh. “Well I’m just glad you’re ok.”

Jon hugged him tighter again and looked up at him, curious. “The Lonely didn’t affect you?” he asked.

Martin shook his head. “I remembered you. When we started getting close I took one of the tapes out and listened to your voice. It was like-”

“-an anchor.”

“Yeah.” Martin smiled. “Are  _ you  _ ok?”

Jon nodded, weakly. “I’m still tired. That was ...odd. A strange sort of auto-cannibalism almost? At any rate, I think we should get to the next domain as quickly as we can. Just in case.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”


	9. Hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Jack as they move through a domain of The Hunt.  
> Prompt No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD - “Run!”  
> and   
> Prompt No 10. THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED - Trail of Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Blood, being hunted, gutting, gore.

The path that was once well beaten had started to fade and become overgrown with bramble as the forest seemed to press closer in on them, sharp branches threatening to catch on their clothes and tear their exposed skin if they misstepped. Jon led them to a large rock at the end of the recognizable path, with only dense forest beyond and paused, waiting for Martin to catch up. 

“Wait here and don’t wander off,” he instructed. “This forest is full of things that are stalking their prey and I wouldn’t want them to think that’s you while I’m ...otherwise engaged.”

“Oh. Wonderful,” Martin said, rolling his eyes. “How should I go about making myself not look like prey then? Make myself appear bigger? I think I’ve got an alright size advantage as it is…”

“I’m serious Martin, this could actually be quite dangerous.”

“Well, I’m serious too! I need to know how I can protect myself.”

“Ok good, well in that case you have to ...not be afraid. And I know that sounds glib, but just remember - nothing here can hurt you.”

Jon’s eyes scanned Martin’s face and he could practically see the cogs turning. 

“No…” Martin said slowly, “no, that’s not right, because if you said it could be dangerous, but they can’t hurt me then that means they  _ can  _ hurt me and you’re just telling me they can’t so I won’t be afraid of them, oh my god. Jon - Jon! Tell me you’re not lying to me to make me less afraid right now.”

Jon winced slightly. 

“Jon, you are the  _ worst _ liar I have ever met.” Martin sighed heavily. 

“I’m sorry, I thought about looking - about  _ Seeing  _ how you’d react, but I didn’t want to intrude… I wasn’t going to break your trust like that.”

“So you just thought it would be better to lie to me?”

“Yes!”

“Jon.”

Jon grimaced. “Look, Martin, I don’t know what else to tell you. I’m sorry, but I really, really need a minute or I think I might pass out again, and I just need to know you’re going to be ok. Just- don’t be scared. You’re stronger than anything in this forest and I’ll be right here.” Jon swayed on his feet and felt his mind lurch. 

Martin chewed his lip. “Ok.” He lowered his head to Jon’s and Jon leaned up to press their foreheads together. 

“I love you,” Jon said, “I won’t be long.”

Martin tilted his head towards the forest. “Go on, then.”

Jon walked a little way off the path and sniffed the breeze, detecting the faintest hint of blood on it.

_ Jack kneels in the underbrush, inspecting the leaf litter that covers the forest floor. The blood is still wet. The trail is faint, a few drops here and there, but it is present and something tells Jack that it is unmistakably human. They should follow it. Before things became the way they are now, Jack fancied themself a bit of a survivalist, they would hunt the occasional rabbit for supper, were capable of setting elaborate traps and knew the general ways of the land. Things are different now. They have no use for hunting for food or trapping, but they do have reason to track a blood trail. They haven’t seen another human being in weeks, although they know something is in the forest with them. Watching. Following. The blood means there is something else out here with them and Jack desperately wants to know who or what that is. So they follow it.  _

_ It is faint, a few drops here and there, but then, just as it looks as though the bleeding may have stopped completely, a fresh spray appears and the droplets come heavier and more frequently for a time before the trail fades again. It looks deliberate, but whether it was created by the person bleeding, or the something causing them to bleed is unclear. Neither seems appealing. Jack follows the blood, never shaking the feeling of being watched, until they come to a small clearing. There is more blood here and it pools more frequently, as though they’d stopped suddenly.  _

_ It doesn’t take long for the buzz of flies to alert Jack that something is wrong. They drag their eyes from the blood trail, following the sound until they see the body.  _

_ It looks like an abandoned field dressing, someone interrupted while gutting their kill.  _

_ Except that isn’t it at all.  _

_ The person - Jack can see now it is a person - is splayed out, tied by their wrists to tree branches keeping them off the ground, likely to prevent other predators from moving in on their kill. Their abdomen is sliced open from sternum to navel and their internal organs hang from their body. It is not until the body twitches does Jack realise the awful truth.  _

_ They are still alive. _

_ Their eyes are wide and bulging, their mouth gapes like a fish and it takes a second to process that through the gasping, they are trying to say something. _

_ They are looking directly at Jack and a single word comes out clear. _

_ “Run!” _

_ Jack doesn’t need to be told twice. A branch snaps in the woods off to their left and they take off running full-sprint in the opposite direction. _

_ Whatever is following them is fast. They can almost feel the breath down the back of their neck. Suddenly, a hard impact sends them staggering forward and searing pain radiates from their shoulder blade. It takes a moment for the blood to well up in the scratch marks but when it does it is warm and flows in trickles down Jack’s back, dripping off them, leaving trails of red spots in their wake.  _

_ Their world becomes percussion. The beat of their heart in their chest, the thump of their feet on the ground, the rasps of their breath in and out, the drum of their pulse in their ears.  _

_ Run to the beat. _

_ The fear drives into their brain like an ice-pick - run, unless you want to be meat. _

_ They can’t run fast enough, their feet are not nimble enough and they do not have the energy to keep going, feeling the relentless pursuer begin to wear them down. Soon they will have to slow down or give up entirely and that only drives the fear deeper. It gives them another precious few seconds before they are cruelly struck again, more blood welling from their wounds and flowing down their back, leaving a trail behind them.  _

_ The next strike drops them.  _

_ They know this is it, they are even in a small clearing. This is planned. They had been herded here.  _

_ Jack is rolled onto their back by hard, clawed hands, their wrists secured with rope and they are lifted, off the ground, splayed out like a fresh kill, all ready for field dressing. _

_ The knife glints in the dappled sunlight of the forest.  _

_ Even as the blade enters their abdomen, freeing their guts and allowing them to cascade from their body, Jack knows they will not die.  _

_ They dread to think who will be the next to join them in their nightmare.  _

Jon let out a steady breath. As disturbing as that had been, his mind was clear and keen again. 

It only took him a second to remember he’d left Martin alone. He spun on his heel and hurried back to him.

Thankfully, Martin was exactly where Jon had left him.

“Martin! Are you ok?” Jon asked as soon as he was in earshot again.

Martin looked up, a little startled. “Oh, yeah, fine. It was uneventful here. How are you feeling now?”

“I feel a lot better,” Jon admitted sheepishly.

“That’s good then.”

Jon hummed, noncommittal. “In a way.”

“Well it’s better than unconscious, so we’ll take that as a ‘good’ for now.”

Jon laughed at that and slipped his hand through the crook of Martin’s arm, linking them together and leading him back out the way they’d come. “As good as it may be, it’s still not safe for us to be here, so I propose an expeditious retreat.”

Martin followed suit. “I will not argue with that.”


	10. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Andy, on the topic of betrayal.  
> Prompt No 11. PSYCH 101- Struggling   
> and   
> Prompt No 12. I THINK I’VE BROKEN SOMETHING - Broken Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Emotional manipulation, trust issues, betrayal, spiders.

“Did I mention I hate spiders?” 

Martin sighed. “Y’know, I think it’s come up once or twice…”

Jon groaned. The walls of the police station were covered with thick cobwebs and it made Jon’s skin crawl just being close enough to touch it. Usually the Web was more subtle, but here apparently it needn't bother to hide its presence.

“If it helps,” Martin suggested, “I don’t really like it here either.”

“A slight relief that you’re not latently Web-aligned, perhaps, but a minor comfort nonetheless,” Jon noted almost clinically. He was bothered, wound tight - the whole place made him feel paranoid and on-edge. There were shadows in this place that made it difficult to See. 

The Eye did not like it, but it urged him on anyway. 

He felt a distinct pull towards a room at the back of the station and advised Martin to wait out of earshot. 

He was not looking forward to turning his attention to whatever was in the room. 

_ Andy awakes as though pulled from an unpleasant dream, but quickly realises reality is not the better alternative. They are sat on a simple wooden chair, handcuffs binding their wrists to the arms and ankles to the legs. _

_ They are in what looks to be a police interrogation room, and they are not going anywhere anytime soon. _

_ How had they gotten here? _

_ Andy scans their memory for any trace of mistake, anything that would’ve led to the plan falling through, to the police getting tipped off, to them getting caught. It was dangerous, sure, but all their heists were and Andy always made sure everything was triple checked and secure before they and Rex committed to anything.  _

_ Rex. _

_ Andy panics, wondering if their partner got out or, they dread to think, if he didn’t. _

_ “I’m sorry,” a hollow voice whimpers behind them, “I had no choice.” _

_ Andy’s blood runs cold. _

_ Trust is a thing that breaks like glass. You can pick up the pieces, but it will never be the same as it was before and you’ll only bleed in the process. Andy knew this well and they were very, very careful in who they trusted. But apparently not careful enough. _

_ Andy wants to argue, they want to make the point that, yes, he had a choice, yes, he  _ always  _ had a choice. And that meant he  _ chose  _ to do this to them. _

_ They trusted him. They thought they were ride or die. Told him every secret, every step of the plan. His betrayal feels like a slap in the face. No. A shot through the heart.  _

_ Honestly, that would be easier to accept, and probably easier to heal from. _

_ Andy can’t even process it. They sit there, a lump in their throat because they’re too shocked to cry. They can’t even ask why. _

_ Deep down, they know why though, of course they do.  _

_ Self preservation.  _

_ “I never meant to hurt you,” Rex’s voice from the shadows claims. _

_ The cuffs holding Andy to the chair tighten, as if pulled by some unseen force.  _

_ “But in a way,” Rex goes on, voice low, “you knew what the risk was. You made that choice when you trusted me. So, really, this is all your fault.” _

_ Again his words sting, make Andy physically recoil and simultaneously, the chair is dragged backwards, the legs screeching along the floor. They struggle more, but find that the more they resist, the more tightly bound they are to the chair.  _

_ Rex is right, of course, Andy was a fool to trust him. They didn’t do a thorough enough background check, didn’t see the warning signs, or chose to ignore them, and now they were paying for it. _

_ But how could he hurt them so badly? Betray them like this? _

_ Andy thought he loved them.  _

_ Trust is a thing that breaks like glass. If the impact is hard enough it shatters, leaving nothing but an empty space of what was. _

_ Andy feels something move across their lap and looks down. It takes a second to register the nightmarish visual of thousands of tiny spiders spinning webs across their body in eerie coordination. Andy clamps their mouth shut for fear the spiders may crawl down their throat and begin weaving their webs inside them.  _

_ Andy finally finds the words to gasp, “Rex! Help me!” They twist their head to try to get a better idea of where he is - he’s somewhere behind them but Andy can’t make out anything in the dark shadows of the room.  _

_ The web clings to them in thick clumps now as they struggle to free themself from the sticky thread that binds their limbs and holds them fast to the wooden chair. Splinters dig into their skin where they fight viciously against their bonds. _

_ Andy can see now the spiders dancing along the thread of their webs, moving from the chair to the corner of the room that lays in shadows, where they are slowly being dragged. The webs go taut and reel them in, bit by bit by bit.  _

_ As Andy is dragged further into the darkness, their eyes begin to adjust.  _

_ From the corner of the room, pulling on the web, stretch two impossibly long limbs, bony and covered in coarse, black hair. _

_ One leg of the chair catches on some unseen obstacle and Andy twirls suddenly, coming face to face with the thing in the darkness.  _

_ “I never meant to hurt you,” Rex says again, the voice coming from the mouth with fangs that glisten in the dim light. The eight eyes stare back at him, full of mock regret. “I’m sorry.”  _

_ Even in their last moments, Andy can’t help but believe the lie.  _

_ The spider pulls on their web with assured glee. _

Jon shuddered.

Even from a distance, Martin noticed, tilting his head with a concerned look on his face. 

Jon returned to his side, pressing close and pulling Martin into a silent hug with his face in his chest. 

Martin gently rubbed his back. “That bad, huh?”

Jon nodded into Martin’s chest. “I just need a minute.” The words vibrated against Martin’s ribs. “Will you hold me?”

“Of course.” Martin wrapped his arms around him and held Jon firm in the hug. 

They stayed like that for a few minutes before Jon eventually pulled back.

“Thank you. That was… difficult for me.”

Martin looked halfway torn between wanting to ask and not wanting to make things worse, so Jon elaborated.

“Trust issues. Just… reminds me of someone I’m glad I’m not anymore.”

“Ah, well, for what it’s worth, I trust you completely. I’m letting you lead me through the apocalypse, after all.”

Jon smiled warmly. “You are indeed. I’m glad you’re with me. I… I don’t think I could do this alone.”

“Well it’s a good job you don’t have to. Shall we…?” Martin gestured in the direction of the exit.

“God, yes, please,” Jon enthused. “But uh,” he looked around before spinning in an almost complete circle and coming to a stop facing a different hallway. “This way though.”

Martin chuckled. “Lead on.”


	11. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon relives Martin’s nightmares from the cabin.  
> Prompt No 13. BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT - ALT: Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Nightmares, isolation, panic.

_ It’s quiet in the safe house while they lay in bed trying to forget the horrors befallen the world outside its walls. Jon lays awake, eyes unfocused, staring at the ceiling, silently begging sleep to take him, but it never does. Martin on the other hand, he has pulled the blankets up to his chin and now grips them with white-knuckled fingers. Jon swears he can hear his teeth grinding.  _

_ “Martin?” Jon sits up and squeezes Martin’s shoulder, giving it a gentle shake, but his eyes don’t open. Instead, he twitches violently, and Jon pulls his hand away, waiting for the thrashing to stop. Martin mumbles something Jon cannot make out.  _

_ Make it stop… _

_ Jon closes his eyes and tries to block it out, but it only brings the terror into sharper focus. _

_ Jon is used to seeing nightmares. He is used to walking the dreams of those sacrificed to the Eye, ever watching, a known presence striking fear into those he witnesses. This is not like that. Here he feels helpless, unseen and unheard, forced to watch but unable to comfort or aid. He can only watch. _

_ Martin sobs alone in a room, surrounded by empty cans and books. There’s a knock at the door that makes him jump, shudder and sob louder. No one is coming for him. No one knows he is gone. No one cares if he's missing.  _

_ Jon feels his fear and pain acutely and it grips his heart.  _

_ Silver and black worms make their way through cracks in the walls, under the door, wriggle through the gaps in the floorboards and promptly vanish. Martin doesn’t know what’s real anymore.  _

_ Jumpcut.  _

_ Again, Martin is alone, in the tunnels under the institute, he left Tim and Jon. They were right behind him and now they’re gone. He rounds a dark corner and is greeted by a corpse. Jon expects it to be Gertrude, but it is a woman he knows is Martin’s mother. She wears a disapproving look on her face, even in death.  _

_ Martin hides his face in his hands, tries to block everything out.  _

_ He cannot.  _

_ Elias’ eyes. A disembodied voice.  _

_ “Jon doesn’t love you. He never loved you. You’re just not worthy of love from anyone.”  _

_ Martin’s breathing is fast and shallow. Jon can feel the panic rolling off him in waves and all he wants to do is reassure him, but he can’t.  _

_ Instead Martin begins to fade. His breathing steadies and deepens, his brown eyes drain of their colour, leaving a pale blue-grey behind.  _

_ Peter’s voice in his ear. “This is where you belong. Nobody will miss you here. You won’t be in the way anymore.” A firm hand on his shoulder, pulling him into the fog before vanishing with any other signs of life and Martin is alone again. _

_ Then the nightmare begins again and Jon can do nothing but watch. _

__

Jon stopped walking suddenly, Martin didn’t notice right away and almost walked straight into him, stopping just short of knocking him over. 

“Jon, wha-?”

“I couldn’t wake you,” Jon blurted out, spinning to face Martin.

“What?” Martin pulled a face, clearly concerned.

“Back in the cabin, the safe house - I- when it first started and you could still sleep- I couldn’t wake you. You were having nightmares and it sounded so bad that I wanted to wake you up, but I couldn’t.”

“I- I remember, you said- you said you  _ saw _ …” Martin paused to collect himself. “Are you ok?”

Jon gazed up at him, eyes shimmering but determined. “No matter what, you’re not alone, Martin. You’re never alone. As long as I can, I will always be with you. And I love you. And it’s a love you deserve and I’m sorry it couldn’t be everything you deserve, but it’s all I have to give. Please, please never forget that.” 

Jon pulled Martin into a tight hug as best he was able to. Martin returned it, clutching Jon tight, tears welling in his eyes. 

Jon finally released him and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s strange how the monsters in our heads are often worse than, well…” he gestured to the landscape around them, “what’s in front of us.”

“Yeah,” Martin agreed after a moment. “I mean, I wouldn’t necessarily say  _ worse… _ but yeah.” 

Jon breathed a chuckle and rested his head against Martin’s arm. He was struck by a sudden, sombre feeling. “Martin, whatever happens to me in all this… I need you to be ok.”

He felt Martin’s breath hitch, but Martin said nothing, just putting an arm around his shoulder and squeezing him reassuringly. They remained there in silence for a few minutes, allowing the moment to sink in. 

“So where are we headed next?” Martin asked when it felt the time was right to move on. 

Jon cringed. “You’re probably not going to like it.”

“No, probably not, but at least we’ll be there together.”


	12. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statements of devotion to The Desolation.  
> Prompt No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING? - Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Self immolation, burning, graphic description.

“We don’t have to go into a burning building again, do we?” Martin asked cautiously.

“No, not this time. Although I’d be reluctant to say it’s much better.”

Martin frowned. “You’re being-”

“-ominous again, yes, I know, I’m sorry,” Jon admitted. “It’s not a burning building this time, but there is more concentrated suffering. More explicit fear of the flames.”

“That sounds… not great.”

Jon shook his head. “You’re not going to want to be downwind of this one either… not unless you want to be put off barbeque forever.”

“Oh. Wonderful.”

“Yeah.” 

They walked on a little further until they came to a ridge. Just beyond, a plume of dark smoke curled into the air and the sound of screams and gentle crackling echoed on the wind. Jon hissed a breath in. 

“We’re almost close enough. If you wanted to wait here, you’d be perfectly safe. There’s no need for you to see this one,” Jon confessed. 

Martin chewed his lip, replaying in his mind the part of what he’d overheard from the Flesh domain and managing to hold off gagging. “Yeah, ok, I might just wait here then.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Martin snorted. “You are  _ so _ lucky this isn’t a horror movie, that would be a death sentence.”

Jon grinned back. “Good thing death doesn’t work like that here, then.” He winked as he disappeared over the ridge.

Once out of view, his countenance grew solemn. His burned hand throbbed dully as if heat flowed through it. There was no avatar of The Desolation here. 

Just the fire itself.

And it’s victims.

_ The pyre burns high in all its glory. An ode to misplaced passion and mistakes made in the heat of the moment. The sacrifice of the candles that fuel it.  _

_ An object exposed to intense heat will not just burn, but will scorch, blacken, melt, or, if rigid enough, eventually break under the pressure. If the heat is intense enough, maintained for long enough, all that will remain is ashes. _

_ The human candles burn eagerly at the altar of Desolation. The flames fuelled and fanned by fear. _

_ Bren set herself alight. _

_ She never knew how to do things by halves. Her dedication to the flames knew no bounds and she would prove her love like no other before, giving herself to the path of self-destruction in totality. She held no preconceived notions that her enthusiasm would spare her any pain, and she was correct in her assumption. It hurt more than anything she had ever experienced.  _

_ Aiden burned from the inside out. _

_ A fire burned within him, a passion so insatiable it could not be quenched. It made him want to scream and rip his heart from his chest, but the flames would do him one better. His love, ill-fated as it was, would consume him, a willing sacrifice, proof of his worth, a trial of love. For her.  _

_ Kalinda burned out.  _

_ She had burned so bright for so long, but in the end, all things must die and what remained for her to tend were only glowing embers. She had nothing left to give. She chose instead to reignite and see that all that remained were ashes. _

_ All three suffer at the licking tongues of the flames.  _

_ Atop the pyre, the gasoline sears their skin where it breaks and stings their faces. A temporary and minor inconvenience. The world around them explodes into the brightest white they can imagine as the match is struck. Then the screaming starts. It too is short-lived. The heat burns the lining of their lungs and makes breathing impossible. They all would be disappointed to learn that it shortens their suffering greatly. But still, they suffer. Skin bubbles and blisters and peels back in layers, exposing oozing yellow-white fat and pink muscle underneath. Hair singes and curls until there is nothing left and clothing melts to their bodies where it isn’t burned clean off. _

_ Their dedication proves to hold true right until the end that is not the end but rather the completion of a cycle of endless suffering that will begin again as soon as it feels whole enough to do so.  _

_ Mount the pyre.  _

_ Pour the gasoline.  _

_ Light the match.  _

_ Burn.  _

_ Stoke the fire that feeds your god.  _

_ Prove your devotion. _

_ Repeat. _

Martin wasn’t planning on questioning him, but as Jon reappeared over the ridge, seeing the expression on his face, Martin’s eyebrow instinctively quirked upwards.

“Do you really want to know?” Jon asked plainly.

“Yes. ...no. I mean- can you just spare me the details and tell me what was going on?”

Jon sighed again. “They were ... _ devotees _ to the Desolation. They set themselves on fire, just to burn.”

Martin’s mouth hung open, trying to fathom it. “Why?”

“They feed themselves to their god.”

“Hungry god.”

“I know, right?” Jon replied with a smirk.

Martin scoffed a laugh, but it was short-lived as he caught the far-off look on Jon’s face. “And what about you?”

Jon bit his tongue, pensive. “I don’t know if I have a choice anymore.”

Martin’s brow furrowed, but he nodded, understanding. “C’mon then, let’s keep moving.”


	13. Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reflections on the subject of identity.  
> Prompt No 15. INTO THE UNKNOWN - Possession  
> and  
> Prompt No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY - Hallucinations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Dissociation, dysphoria, dysmorphia, unreality, self-harm, blood, imposters, second-person narration.

Jon and Martin found themselves in a long, unassuming corridor, lined on both sides with doors leading to public bathrooms of all kinds. A hallway of intimate, private, liminal spaces. Inside, the people - well, they were once people - inspected themselves in the mirrors, picking things from their teeth, endlessly restyling their hair or attempting to clean mess off their clothes, lipstick smears from their faces. Some used the privacy of the rooms for more nefarious purposes, but all shared the same niggling doubts and deep-set terrors. 

Jon cleared his throat and pointed to an unoccupied room. 

“I’m just going to, uh…”

“Use the bathroom?” Martin suggested with a smirk. 

Jon huffed a laugh. “In a way, yes.” 

“I’ll wait for you here. Don’t fall in or anything.”

Jon made sure the door was closed behind him - adding to the unsettling atmosphere, none of the locks worked and the gaps between the doors were just a little too wide to feel completely at ease. There was always a sense of being watched, although Jon suspected that may have been The Eye’s contribution.

_ You look in the mirror - at least, you think it is a mirror. You do not recognise the face in front of you.  _

_ You wear someone else’s skin like a mask. The face that stares back at you from the other side of the glass is foreign, yet you know it to be your own. Or do you? _

_ You are not possessed, but nor do you possess. You are trapped inside an illusion, a shifting, troublesome thing of flesh and bone and blood that binds your true nature and it pains you to think about almost as much as it pains you to remain confined to this thing that is not you. _

_ The stranger grins back at you mocking, taunting the very who of who you are. They study your face in return as though judging you for your legitimacy. You hate them with every fibre of your being. Who are they to question who you are? _

_ Lash out, strike the stranger but your fist finds instead the glass that contains them to their reality that is not the same as yours. It shatters and the fear cuts through you like the glass through your hand that what once separated them from you is gone. The tinkling of glass on porcelain echoes through the tiled room as a few pieces fall away, leaving gaping cracks in the face that stares back at you, shocked and enraged at your outburst.  _

_ They are not you and it is time for them to stop pretending to be.  _

_ Take a piece of shattered mirrored glass and use the sharp edge to peel back the corner of the imitation of a smile that hides your screaming mouth. You’re in there somewhere, you just have to find yourself. _

_ The figure in the cracked reflection that is you but not you echoes this sentiment, their own face screaming back at you to stop, what are you doing? But it is a trick preventing you from escaping the prison that has been crafted for you, so personal, the body you are trapped in.  _

_ How much of you remains inside when so much of the outside is taken up by something that is not you? _

_ Peel away the ragged flesh and let warm blood flow cleansing over the illusion of what you are not. _

_ Look down at hands that are not yours and see the blood is now black that once was red. Look up at the mirror to find it whole and the reflection staring back at you is you but something’s wrong. The image is reversed. Which side of the glass are you on?  _

_ Is it the same as it’s always been? _

Jon let out a deep breath and decided not to look in the mirror above the yellowing porcelain sink. Instead he checked the stalls before cautiously exiting, remaining alert for shifting, twisting presences of most unwelcome guests.

Martin noticed almost immediately upon his return. 

“Jon, what is it? You look like you’re looking for something.”

He clicked his tongue and tried to relax. “I’m half expecting Helen to show up… The Distortion has a big hold over this domain.”

Martin cocked his head sideways. “But it’s not a domain  _ of  _ The Distortion?”

Jon frowned. “It’s… complicated? The entities themselves aren’t so clear cut all the time. It’s like they bleed into each other at the edges.”

Martin thought for a moment, then nodded.

“For anyone who’s ever had issues of questioning their identity, dissociation, imposter syndrome… well, The Distortion and The Stranger produced a potent -collaboration- to ensure they would never find peace. That’s what this place is.”

Martin thought for a moment, his expression turning pained in sympathy, the thought hitting a little too close to home for comfort. “Sounds awful.”

“They all do, don’t they?” Jon sighed. “The next one’s not much better, I’m afraid. And we’re close already.”

“Let’s keep going then, I guess.”


	14. Privacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Reginald on the importance of keeping secrets.  
> Prompt No 17. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING - Dirty Secret  
> and  
> Prompt No 18. PANIC! AT THE DISCO - Paranoia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Adultery, paranoia.

It wasn’t long before Jon led them through the corridor to a door that wasn’t a bathroom; instead it had a bright green EXIT sign above it. Jon pushed it open and stepped onto the plush carpet of a hotel hallway, the doors on either side with “Do Not Disturb” signs hanging from their handles. There were multiple security cameras on the roof to observe every angle of the corridor, to catch every coming and going.

Martin eyed the cameras and signs. “Let me guess? This is one of The Eye’s?” 

“To be fair,” Jon said, “they all sort of belong to The Eye now, the whole purpose of this place is to serve it…” 

The look Martin gave him could have cut glass and Jon blushed slightly, biting back a grin.

“But yes, this place is predominantly watched over by The Eye. The Distortion is also at work throughout this domain.”

“Really? How so?” 

“It drives up the paranoia. Feeds the idea of malicious intent. The Eye on its own is quite benign really. It relies on the guilt of its victims to bring about the fear.”

Martin rolled his eyes as a grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “You would say that.”

“I believe I just did.” Jon grinned back.

Martin chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah, yeah, alright, you going to go do your statement or whatever, or is this another case of cannibalism?”

Jon snorted. “I’m afraid I need to make a statement. But at least this place isn’t horrible to wait in.”

Martin looked at the carpet, the relative safety and normalcy of the corridor and shrugged. “I guess.”

Jon smiled and squeezed his hand. “I won’t be long.” 

Jon found the room he was looking for - 636 - and pushed his way in. Despite the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the handle, the door was unlocked. They all were. The privacy was an illusion even the guests were not fooled by, deliberate as it was in emphasising their fear of being caught. 

As Jon opened himself to The Eye, he found it even more difficult to muster sympathy for its victims. 

_ Reginald is a good man. _

_ He’s an entertainer. Not a celebrity but with enough influence to be comfortable. A comedian. Progressive, but in the most conservatively acceptable and easily digestible way. He doesn’t do drugs, smoke or drink. He jokes about being boring. He volunteers, he donates to charity, he loves his kids and his wife and he makes sure everyone knows it.  _

_ He’s a ‘nice guy’. _

_ Anyone who meets him will vouch.  _

_ He is loved and he knows it.  _

_ His reputation is camouflage, trust given freely and naively.  _

_ He checks into the hotel citing a name that is not his. He waves off the discrepancy between this and his legal ID as ‘a stage name’ for ‘confidentiality reasons’. _

_ The look the desk clerk gives him makes him wonder if they recognise him. He pulls his hat down further over his face and glances away from the camera. He has crafted his alibis and laid down the breadcrumbs of plausible deniability. He ensures his home life and work life are separate enough that he has ample room to move between them undetected when he wants to. Like now.  _

_ A little secret. No one ever has to know.  _

_ There are more security cameras here than he remembers, more staff cleaning the rooms on each floor, more people coming and going that could recognise him. There is a pit that opens in his stomach.  _

_ No matter how carefully he plays his cards, how many stories he spins or alibis he constructs, he knows deep down that at any second, it could all come crashing down around him.  _

_ He does not let this stop him though.  _

_ He waits patiently in the hotel room and prepares.  _

_ An hour passes. _

_ Nothing.  _

_ He is impatient. This is a risk and he expects payout.  _

_ Alone and anxious, he takes another risk - a photo.  _

_ He sends it, probing for a response. _

_ An automated message.  _

_ <User has taken a screenshot> _

_ Panic washes over Reginald. Evidence was not something he could afford to have.  _

_ He asks: <What’s that for?> _

_ The reply comes: <Something to remember you by.> _

_ His panic intensifies but he refuses to allow it to show. He cannot even afford to hint at how catastrophic evidence could be. _

_ He plays it cool: <You don’t get enough of me already?> _

_ Hi mind races. What if it gets out? _

_ He tries again: <It was a bad pic, don’t save it, I’ll send more later.> _

_ If anyone found out about this… _

_ His phone buzzes again. _

_ <User has taken a screenshot> _

_ And again. _

_ <User has taken a screenshot> _

_ <User has taken a screenshot> _

_ <User has taken a screenshot> _

_ His blood turns to ice.  _

_ This was his secret. No one was supposed to know.  _

_ Too much evidence.  _

_ He racks his brain, thinking of all the carefully constructed cover stories and lies that he crafted to save him from this very situation.  _

_ His phone buzzes again. _

_ His photo stares back at him, lewd comments and cutting remarks, more every second. _

_ No longer a secret. No longer private. This is the public domain and he is exposed.  _

_ His phone buzzes again and again and again. There is no reprieve.  _

_ He has been seen. _

_ Reginald is not a good man. _

_ He’s a manipulator. Not a celebrity but with enough influence to use that power over others. An adulterer. Sly and exploitative in a way that makes your stomach turn. A control freak. He abuses, he twists the truth to his lies, he cheats on his wife and now everyone knows it.  _

_ He’s a liar. _

_ Anyone who met him will vouch.  _

_ He fucked up and now he is falling. _

_ He can’t admit his faults though, not in public. He is the victim, he insists. He was wrongfully exposed, he claims. _

_ He watches it spread like wildfire - the unstoppable virus of information.  _

_ He is paralysed with fear.  _

_ There is no way out of this. Even if he could lie his way out of it, the secret is no longer a secret. The damage is done. _

_ The Watcher drinks it in. _

Jon shook himself. He’d thought that was one of the milder ones. It left him feeling slimy, like he needed a shower. Others in this domain were similarly hiding other secrets. Murders, fraud, lies to loved ones. They probably didn’t deserve the eternal torment of a personalised fearscape, but they were for the most part, not good people. It was a small piece of comfort.

Jon rejoined Martin and began to lead him onwards.

“A cleaner came by while you were busy,” Martin said quietly.

“Oh?”

Martin chewed his lip. “I tried to talk to him, y’know, be nice? He looked at me like he knew something. Like he could see everything bad I’ve ever done in my life and he was judging me for it. I know you keep saying that we can’t be hurt, but it certainly didn’t feel good.”

Jon pulled a face somewhere between worry and amusement. 

“Is there nothing we can do to stop this one? It is a domain of The Eye after all, surely you can do something?”

Jon shook his head. “Don’t feel too bad for those trapped here, Martin. They carry a guilty conscience. Many of them are hiding from atrocities they themselves have committed.”

“Don’t forget though,” Martin said, looking mildly distressed, “you can have a guilty conscience without being guilty.”

Jon raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. 

“Innocent bystanders, friends and family, survivors - people who take it upon themselves - who  _ blame  _ themselves for not seeing the signs sooner, for not speaking out, for thinking it’s somehow their fault…” Martin sighed. “They forget that through rose coloured glasses, the red flags just look like flags.”

Jon felt a pang of regret, recalling all of what he knew Martin had been through. He smiled warmly back at him and interlaced the fingers of their hands, squeezing firmly. 

“Sometimes I forget that you’re a poet.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes I forget you’re an Avatar of voyeuristic terror.”

Jon burst out laughing.

Martin smiled. “But only sometimes.”


	15. Surviving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Martin work through the feeling of survivor’s guilt.  
> Prompt No 19. BROKEN HEARTS - Survivor’s Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Past trauma, self-loathing, discussions of death.  
> Additional note for boys being soft.

They’d left the hotel and continued out into the barren expanse of what was once ...it didn’t really matter where it used to be. Nothing was what it once was and it didn’t help to think about it in such terms now.

Jon slowed as they trekked over the increasingly rocky terrain, letting Martin catch up and match his pace. 

“What is it, Jon?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said about guilt. I don’t… I don’t want to burden you with anything…” he laughed weakly. “For someone with knowledge of the entire universe in his head, sometimes I don’t know how much I can say that’s not going to be considered ...oversharing.”

Martin’s eyebrows furrowed. “If it’s something you’re struggling with, you can tell me anything.” He put a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “I’m here for you, Jon.” 

Jon smiled and sighed. “Do you mind if we sit for a bit? It feels easier.”

“Of course.”

Jon led them to a rocky outcrop, found a suitable rock and plopped down on it. Martin sat next to him while Jon fidgeted into a comfortable seat before taking a deep breath and sighing it out.

“You’re right,” he began, “the guilt sits with you, seemingly regardless of whether or not you think it’s your fault.”

Martin’s face contorted with pain and Jon understood the look enough to snap his mouth shut again.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up-”

“No, Jon, no, it’s fine, you need to talk this out. I get it. I feel it too. It’s ok.”

Jon nodded. “But it  _ is  _ my fault,” he said, already working himself up again. “It is directly my fault. I’m the reason… I’m the reason Sasha is dead. I’m the reason Tim is dead-”

“Jon…” 

“- and Daisy and Melanie and I doomed the  _ world _ , Martin...”

“Jon! I don’t want to slap you, but I will,” Martin said sternly, snapping Jon out of his spiral.

Jon bit his lip. “It was  _ my  _ doing, Martin.”

“Oh, stop giving yourself so much credit,” Martin sniped. “Sure, you made decisions that were questionable, bad things happened and you did what you thought was right to deal with them. We all make mistakes, Jon. Difference is you were manipulated. We all were. By him. Elias or Jonah or whatever you want to call him. We were all players in his little game and so ultimately you can beat yourself up, but he’s the one to blame.”

Jon’s face scrunched at the words. He was right, of course he was right. It didn’t hurt any less, but it gave him a productive place to channel his wrath.

“And they were  _ my  _ friends too,” Martin added, his voice breaking slightly. “You didn’t have to deal with the immediate fallout - the way the institute fractured after- after the Unknowing. When only Basira came back and Daisy was gone and you were in your coma. Even Elias was gone. Well… we all mourned in our own way. But I guess… I guess some things we just have to carry with us.”

Jon nodded solemnly and his eyes searched the ground. 

“And you…” Martin went on, less certain now, “you were thrown back into it so suddenly, I don’t think you had the time to process it. Inhuman or not, you still needed time to deal with that. And you deserved to have support. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Jon’s face fell as he looked up. “Oh, Martin, it’s not- I know it’s not your fault. You were doing what you thought was right too. You were trying to save the world.” Jon stopped suddenly, the hypocrisy of it dawning on him. “Oh.”

“Mmmhmmm,” Martin hummed. 

“I see.” Jon leaned his head against Martin’s shoulder and sighed again heavily. They sat in silence for a few minutes, reflecting. “I still can’t remember what she looked like,” he said quietly. “All this knowledge in my head and I still can’t remember her. Sometimes I think I do, but I can’t be sure if it’s really her or the thing that replaced her in my memories.”

Martin pulled Jon into a hug under one arm and Jon wrapped his arms around his torso, burying his face in his chest. “Yeah… me too.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon mumbled. 

“For what? Bringing the mood down?” Martin smirked. “You’re allowed to have feelings, Jon.”

“I almost wish I wasn’t…” Jon moped.

“Liar,” Martin teased, resting his chin on Jon’s head, “you’d miss loving me.” 

Jon hummed a laugh. “That I would.”

Martin hugged him tighter and they lingered in the embrace, a fleeting moment of peace. Finally, Martin pulled away, standing and offering his hand to pull Jon up after him. 

Jon hesitated for a moment. 

Martin took his hand. “What happened happened and we can’t change that. All we can do is try to figure out how to fix it. Or how to live with it. Or I guess, if it comes to it… how not to.”


	16. Fester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Amelia on surgical technique and hygienic recovery in the battlefield.  
> Prompt No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE’RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE - Field Medicine   
> and  
> Prompt No 21. I DON’T FEEL SO WELL - Infection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: War, gunshot wounds, blood, stitches, infection, graphic description.

_ Amelia screams. A blood-curdling shriek of pain tears from her throat as the bullets rip through her flesh. She doesn’t even remember how she got here. All she knows is the pound of rain, of boots in mud, of impacts of bullets in dense vegetation all around. She doesn’t even know who’s firing. It doesn’t matter because right now she is face down in the mud, her legs knocked bloody from under her but the unseen enemy's fire. She spends what feels like forever screaming into the earthy sludge and gritting her teeth to muffle the sound, lest she be tracked down by her foe while pain racks her body. She cannot move beyond twitching until the pain in her legs begins to subside to something her body can process as more than panic. The adrenaline takes some of the sting out of it but only enough to keep her from passing out. A shame.  _

_ Once she can breathe without screaming, she lays there, feeling the rain drum into her back and watching the steady drip of water from a leaf near her face. She daren’t look back at her legs, but the way she is growing colder, her extremities more obviously numb, she suspects the blood is flowing from her wounds in much the same way.  _

_ It feels like an eternity. It is perhaps only a few minutes. The gunshots are more distant now. Nobody remains in the area as far as Amelia can determine by listening. She finally musters the strength to clamber to her elbows, then push herself onto her back and survey the damage. The fabric of her trouser legs is torn and bloody. It obscures most of the damage, but the angle is all wrong and it is immediately apparent that one of her legs is badly broken. Blood flows from the wounds in stuttering pulses. She wonders how she will survive this.  _ If  _ she will survive this. _

_ “Not to fear, the doctor is here!”  _

_ A deceptively cheery voice cuts through the violence and tension around them. The doctor - a field medic - approaches her prone form with a spring in their step. They wear a head covering and face mask so that only their eyes are visible, dark, almost black and eager.  _

_ Amelia gets the distinct impression that they are smiling with glee. _

_ The doctor produces a small piece of leather from their satchel bag and stuffs the disgusting frayed thing into Amelia’s mouth.  _

_ “Bite down on this, because it is going to hurt,” the doctor instructs, laying hot, clammy hands on Amelia’s broken leg.  _

_ Amelia ignores the question of how many people had the leather bit between their teeth before her and bites down hard as the doctor twists her leg viciously and it flares with pain anew. There is no relief with the act, yet the doctor seems satisfied.  _

_ “Right, time to stitch this up,” they announce cheerfully, pulling a needle trailing dark thread from their bag. The doctors hands burn against her flesh as they waste no time stitching a wound, dragging metal through tissue and tugging the threads taught. Their hands are covered with blood and mud and leave faint streaks where they brush against skin.  _

_ “Almost done...” _

_ Amelia only has a moment to wonder what that means before a strong chemical scent hits the back of her throat and knocks her into a dizzying darkness. _

_ When she opens her eyes again, she is no longer in the rain and mud. She is in bright lights and she is hot and sticky. Her leg now burns with pain but it is not fresh. This is old and aches with a dull hot thump. Her head pounds, her blood feels viscous inside her veins and she burns and itches all over. Something is very very wrong. _

_ The smell hits her nose, a mix of chemical and putrefaction. She gags and bites back the bile that rises, acrid, from her belly. She pulls aside the damp, yellow-stained sheet that covers her and a fresh wave of scent fills the air, this time sickly sweet and stale. Her legs are red and raw and swollen. Her feet so pale they are almost blue. The flesh festers beneath the surface of her wounds, thin yellow fluid seeping through the thick black stitches laid down by the doctor, now futile in their attempts to mend, only serving to make the skin slip at the edges where they pull. _

_ She reaches down to touch it - perhaps remove the stitches and attempt to clean the wound, to disinfect it and halt the spread of whatever disease has taken hold. As her fingers brush the skin, it slips over the rancid flesh below, tearing like wet paper from the firmer, healthy skin further up her leg, revealing the oozing purulent mess below. This time, Amelia retches and as she looks back up, she sees the shape of the doctor standing over her. _

_ As Amelia reaches down to wipe the pus from her leg, the doctor’s hand shoots out and grabs her arm.  _

_ “It needs you.” _

_ Amelia shakes her head in disbelief. “What does?” she implores. _

_ The doctor just gives her the same look they gave her when she first encountered them and suddenly she understands.  _

_ The infection.  _

_ The doctor’s eyes smiled.  _

Jon walked on shaky legs through the thick mud and vegetation back to Martin, who’d taken to studying some of the plants. 

“So do I want to know?” He asked. 

Jon shook his head. “I’d never thought about how easy it was for The Corruption to piggyback on the effects of The Slaughter, at least before antibiotics came along. Really made a difference in World War two- sorry. It was not particularly pleasant, so you probably don’t want to hear about it.”

Martin shook his head. “The Corruption is bad enough alone. All those bugs and infection…”

Jon hummed agreement. 

“Shall we then?” 

“Um…” Jon hesitated slightly. “I don’t- I don’t know exactly where to go next.”

Martin blinked a few times. “I’m sorry,  _ what?  _ What do you mean you don’t know where to go?”

Jon chewed his lip. “It’s been getting harder to See. The further we come, the fuzzier it gets and it seems just ahead, there’s a blindspot. I can’t See. And the way we’ve come- I’m less and less certain about what’s back that way too. Not that I can’t remember, but that I can’t Know.”

Martin’s eyebrows knitted together. “And when were you going to say something?”

“I didn’t want to alarm you and I didn’t know if maybe it would… clear up? As we got closer. It’s hard to explain. Spatio-temporal ambiguities. I can’t see the future and some things aren’t fixed in certainty, so they sometimes…  _ shift _ .”

“Is this going to be a problem?”

Jon shrugged openly. “I genuinely don’t know.” He laughed. “I don’t know. That feels strange to say. Good almost. It’s sort of nice, not knowing. I feel…” he struggled to find the right words, “more human, almost.”

Martin smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “Shall I lead for a while then?”

Jon smiled back and nodded. “Yes, I think that would be for the best.”


	17. Withdrawal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world made of choices, Jon has made an important one. It won’t be pretty.  
> Combining Prompts:   
> No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU? - Withdrawal  
> No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE? - Exhaustion  
> No 24. YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE - Sensory Deprivation  
> No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS - Disorientation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Withdrawal-like symptoms, blood, collapse, self-destruction.

There was something almost pleasant about following for once, Jon noted as he trailed behind Martin. It felt sort of domestic in a way. He couldn’t help but feel that if Elias-  _ Jonah  _ \- hadn’t decided to use him to bring about the end of the world when he did… if they were allowed to carry on with their lives, that this would almost bear resemblance to a weekend adventure, hiking through the countryside, or hunting for fossils by the cliffs of Whitby; Martin leading the way and Jon just happy to be accompanying him.

For a brief moment, it was nice. 

Then things started to slip. 

Jon’s skin prickled like things were crawling under it and he scratched at it absentmindedly. He didn’t even notice he’d been doing it until his fingernail caught the edge of an old scar and he realised he’d drawn blood. Looking at the skin of his arms, it wasn’t the first time. 

Thankfully, with Martin walking ahead, he hadn’t noticed. Jon pulled his jacket sleeves down over them and tried to ignore the squirming sensation beneath his skin, but it only seemed to spread and soon he was scratching again.

On top of this, his head thumped. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his temples, pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, but nothing seemed to relieve the building pressure in his brain.

His steps had slowed to a weary trudge and his vision swam. 

There was a whoosh of air, the sound of an impact, a heavy dull thud. Jon gasped for breath. It took a full second for him to realise he was on the ground. 

There was a buzzing in his head that eventually congealed into Martin’s voice. 

“Jon! Oh god, Jon, what happened? Are you ok?”

Jon groaned. His head throbbed. “I’m- I’m ok.” He went to sit up but the world spun again and he fell back down. “Ok, maybe not so ok.”

“Christ, Jon, what’s going on? Is this because you haven’t taken a statement? Oh god, we have to get you to a domain, now.”

Jon grunted and sat up more slowly and successfully this time. “No. It’s fine, Martin. Well, it’s not exactly fine.”

“Clearly.” 

“No, I mean… I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

Martin waited for him to stop swaying and for his eyes to come back into focus. “Jon. What’s going on?”

Jon folded his legs under him, settling in. No point in trying to move while the world wouldn’t stay in focus. He motioned for Martin to do the same. 

“I had to make a choice,” Jon explained as Martin knelt down next to him. “I have  _ made  _ a choice. And now… let’s just say we’re at the point of no return.”

“What does that mean? Where are we now, what is this place?” 

I honestly don’t Know where we are. But I know it’s a blind spot and I did lead us - well, most of the way - here on purpose. And I know how it will affect me, and it won’t be pretty. But whatever happens, you can’t let me fall back under the Eye’s influence.” Jon swallowed. “It’s fighting me. I’m fighting  _ it _ . And this is a fight I’m not strong enough to win.”

Martin’s eyes searched Jon’s. “You’re giving up?”

“That’s not exactly…” Jon struggled to find the words. His head was still pounding, but it was a little bit clearer now. He took Martin’s hands in his. “You’ve been my anchor, Martin. You’re what’s holding me here, my  _ reason _ . The reason I’ve been able to resist it this long. But as strong as my love for you is, it’s not enough. When the time comes to put a stop to all this… The Eye simply won’t let me.”

Martin’s eyes teared up. “Jon…”

“I’m not giving up - I’m giving  _ you _ a chance.” Jon grinned and coughed a laugh. “I’m essentially fighting with my warlock patron right now and let’s just say, as powerful as I might be, I’m still barely a fraction of the influence of the Beholding.”

Martin scoffed a laugh. “Oh and you expect  _ me  _ to be able to stop it?”

“I don’t know,” Jon admitted, “but I know  _ I can’t _ . It won’t let me. And if I keep fighting it, it’s going to destroy me. But it doesn’t hold the same sway over you. You alone have the power to stop this. But you must be alone.”

Martin’s expression was pained.

“I wish… I wish there was another way.” 

Jon swayed again, looking like he was going to collapse any second. 

Martin looked around, scanning for anything that might be helpful. A house. Not too far away. He prayed it wasn’t some twisted distortion nightmare dwelling.

“C’mon, we have to find a better place to talk about this and I’m going to assume that another domain is out of the question, so I’m making do,” Martin said decisively. “Can you make it to that house over there?”

Jon squinted in the direction Martin was pointing. “I can barely see it, but I’ll give it a shot.”

“Do you even have your glasses anymore?”

Jon shrugged, a dopey smile crossing his face in a way that seemed to make him look younger. “If I’m honest, I didn’t think I’d need them.” 

Martin shook his head and helped Jon to his feet, supporting him with an arm around his waist, holding him up. 

“I can’t help but think this would have been easier back when I hated myself more.”

“You hated yourself  _ more? _ ” Martin asked sarcastically.

“At least I was used to the pain.” Jon grinned, a pained and toothy crooked thing up at Martin. His hair was matted to his forehead with sweat and he was visibly shaking. 

“God, Jon please don’t say things like that.”

“‘m sorry. I have funny ways of coping with things.”

Martin’s face softened into concern once more. “It hurts?”

Jon grimaced. “Not exactly… it’s a different sort of pain. Like withdrawals. Sort of reminds me of when I first quit smoking. Except instead of giving up something that’s bad for me, I’m giving up my senses. I know, I know I can still see and hear and smell and feel things, but it’s not the same. Everything seems muted. It’s like looking through a blindfold or hearing through earmuffs or feeling through gloves. The Eye is losing its hold again and it doesn’t much like it.”

“Isn’t The Eye kind of what’s keeping you…” Martin trailed off, unsure if he wanted to finish the thought and get a clear answer, but it slipped out anyway- “alive?”

“Yes.”

Martin drew a long inhale and bit his lip. “C’mon, almost there.”


	18. Severance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon grit his teeth and tried not to close his eyes. He steeled himself. He could do this. He had to do this.  
> Prompt No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD… - Blindness  
> and  
> Prompt No 27. ALT: Stoic Whumpee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Eye trauma, self mutilation, blinding, vomiting, graphic description.  
> This is a particularly gory/graphic chapter but it all occurs in the last part and there is clear lead-up with ample opportunity to tap out.

The house, as it turned out, was just a house. Decrepit and overrun with cobwebs, cockroaches and mildew, but an otherwise normal house. A ruin amidst a ruined world. A memory of what once was. The door was unlocked and swung open on creaky hinges with little resistance and Jon and Martin practically fell inside, Jon almost collapsing as soon as he crossed the threshold. Martin caught him, steadied his step and led him to a musty cloth sofa, helping him lay down on it. He gripped his head and grimaced, his face contorted with pain.

“It feels like my skull is trying to split in half.”

Martin frowned and looked around at what the house had to offer. I didn’t look like much if he was honest. A roof over their heads to partially block out the nightmares of the outside and some soft furniture to lay on. Perhaps some blankets if it got cold... He hadn’t considered it might get cold, but given the distance from the Eye’s protection, he couldn’t be sure. 

“Jon, if this place is out of reach of the Eye, does that mean we’re not technically immune anymore?”

Jon shook his head. “This is a blind spot, but it still has influence here. I can feel it holding on. I think that’s why it-” he groaned- “hurts so much.”

Martin winced.

“But it means you’ll be ok,” Jon went on, “You still have its protection.”

“And _you?_ ”

Jon froze. He calmly folded his hands in his lap and looked down at them. “I can’t keep fighting it. 

“But you won’t _die…_ ”

“I also won’t be _me_ anymore.”

There was a long silence.

“I have to cut myself off from it completely,” Jon said quietly. 

Martin chewed his lip, a pit forming in his stomach. 

“You know what I have to do…”

“Of course I do, I’m not daft, Jon,” Martin snapped, “but it doesn’t mean I have to like it!”

“I’m sorry,” Jon quickly apologised. 

Martin pouted ever so slightly. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

Jon smiled sadly, shaking his head. “Would you choose any different? Knowing what it means for me?”

Martin let out a slow and shaky breath. “No.”

“I won’t ask you to help. You don’t even have to stay if you don’t want to. I can’t imagine it’s going to be pleasant. During or after.”

“Oh please, Jon, of course I’m going to stay - I may not be able to do the deed, but I’ll be damned if I’m not there to help you afterwards. I’m not just going to leave you.”

Jon let out what felt like a breath of relief. “Thank you.”

“How long do we have?” Martin’s stomach had already turned to stone and it felt like it was spreading through him now as the reality of it congealed into a tangible and certain future. “When do you want to do this?”

Jon shrugged but as he did, his eyes screwed shut in pain again. “The sooner the better I think,” he managed to gasp out. 

“Oh geez, well, a-alright, let me see what we have to work with.”

Martin spent a short while searching the house while Jon made a beeline to the kitchen, rummaging through the draws for anything that might be appropriate for his needs, one hand cradling his head in a futile attempt to stop it from hammering.

Miraculously, there was water in the taps, though it was tinged yellow and only ran cold, but the stove still worked, so Martin was able to boil some water to clean up the utensils. Jon had selected a sharp-looking paring knife and a less well-kept general kitchen knife as a sort of backup, citing “Either should do the trick.” The way he’d said it made Martin’s stomach turn. 

Martin had boiled towels on standby and had managed to find a roll of bandages and cotton packing material in the bathroom. It was oddly specific for their needs and Martin found himself wondering if it had something to do with dream logic before dismissing it in favour of concern for Jon and what was about to happen.

“I don’t think I can watch,” Martin confessed as Jon inspected the setup he’d laid out for himself on the bathroom sink. 

“That’s ok, I understand. I, um… it might take a bit for me to work up to. We’ll see how it goes. If you want to wait outside, I expect you’ll ... _know_ \- when it’s done, that is.” 

Martin nodded, kissed Jon gently on the cheek and turned to leave. 

“Martin, wait!”

He turned around and Jon took his face in both his hands. 

“I just… let me look at you, properly.” Jon’s too green eyes studied Martin’s features carefully, drinking in his freckles, his now blue-grey eyes, the soft curls of his hair, the rounded features, everything, trying to commit it to memory. “I don’t want to forget you. I want you to be the last thing I see.”

Martin’s eyes filled with tears. 

“I love you,” Jon said emphatically and Martin couldn’t help but smile, a tear trickling down onto his cheek. 

Jon grinned back, swiping the tear away with the pad of his thumb. “There’s the smile I want to remember. Thank you Martin.”

Martin drew a shaky breath as Jon let his hands slide back to his sides. “Good luck Jon.”

The door closed between them with a quiet click.

Jon took a deep breath in. “Okay. Here we go,” he muttered to himself. 

Holding the paring knife in one hand, Jon grit his teeth and tried not to close his eyes. He steeled himself. He could do this. He had to do this.

 _Just go quick_ , he told himself. Eric Delano could do it, Melanie could do it, so could he. 

His head buzzed with white noise. The Eye was still resisting. This was his best and probably only shot at breaking the connection for good. And if he was wrong, well… he’d cross that bridge if he came to it. His hand shook with effort. He steadied it with the other. 

He closed his eyes and pictured Martin’s face.

_Breathe in._

Martin. 

_Breathe out._

The image was clear and pure and perfect.

_Breathe in._

He opened his eyes and drove the tip of the knife into his right eye, deep enough that he felt it bounce off the socket. Against all instinct, he twisted the blade as he drew it out, his tear ducts instantly going into overdrive and his eyelids attempting to screw shut over the now badly damaged orb. 

Point of no return.

Before he could second guess himself, he pried open his left eyelids and plunged the knife into his left eye, again twisting it, feeling the tip grind against bone as he shook his head involuntarily and tried to close his eyes around the blade. He dropped the knife and it clattered into the sink. 

Only then did he register the noises he was making. A scream somewhere between a howl and a grunt. 

The door swung open and Martin was there, steadying him, pressing something warm and damp and soft to his face, a towel. He’d prepared those. Right. Think. 

It was the uncomfortable feeling of being unable to close his eyes, to need to blink an eyelash or grain of sand out from behind the eyelid, but being unable to dislodge it. It was this sensation, but multiplied tenfold, as if it wasn’t an eyelash or grain of sand, but a razor blade or a wad of sandpaper. And on top of this was the darkness and the dripping sensation of all the liquid running from his face - tears mixing with the gooey vitreous fluid from the ruptured, deflated eyeballs that still clung on inside his skull via the optic nerve.

He was unable to stop himself from vomiting. Hot acidic bile splashed against his arms as he braced himself on the sink. He wasn’t sure what he hit, but he hoped it wasn’t Martin.

_“Breathe.”_

The instruction was clear and unflinching. Jon forced himself to take a breath. A firm hand on his shoulder helped ground him as Martin wiped his face with the towel and pressed it against where his eyes once were, the pressure providing the tiniest bit of relief.

_“Jon I’ve got you now. You did it. It’s over, I’ve got you. You can rest now.”_

Jon felt his head swim. Exhaustion overcame him. He felt the fuzzy static buzzing in his head give way to a more gentle haze. Sleep was calling him. Not the Eye. Not Knowing. 

Rest. 


	19. Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last time he’d made a choice like this, it was because he’d been afraid to die. Funny how things work out.   
> Prompts: No 28. ALT - Comfort  
> No 29. I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR - Reluctant Bedrest  
> No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? - Ignoring an Injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Blindness, injury, starvation, discussions of death and inevitability.

Jon awoke to darkness, unable to open his eyes, just suddenly aware of the world around him again. But not as he knew it. The ever-present awareness of fear and suffering he’d learned to live with was absent. It was peaceful. The warm, familiar shape next to him breathed in a steady rhythm and Jon curled tighter into the comfort. 

“Jon?” Martin asked quietly, as if trying not to wake him.

Jon instinctively tilted his head towards his voice, but quickly realised it wasn’t any use. “Martin,” he replied simply, realising how dry his mouth was, how cracked his lips were.  His eyes had been properly bandaged, but they felt wrong in his skull and his face felt swollen and sore. Jon was unsure of what Martin had done while he was unconscious, or even how long he’d been out, but clearly he’d been in a heavy enough sleep that he hadn’t woken while Martin had cleaned and dressed the wounds. “How are you?”

Martin scoffed a laugh. “I’m  _ fine _ . I think the better question is how are  _ you? _ ”

“I’m… sore. Uncomfortable, but in the way I guess I was expecting. Still tired, but not at risk of dropping off at any second. I feel… empty.”

“Is it ...gone?” Martin asked, his voice tight with concern. “The Beholding?”

Jon tried to See, but his head was so quiet. For the first time in… years, he was alone with his thoughts. “I… I think so.” 

“Is that good?”

Jon licked his lips. “Yes. Yes, I think it is. I feel weak. Very weak. And hungry, but like I used to. Although it’s been so long since I’ve eaten actual food, I don’t think I could stomach it if I’m honest. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

“Jon… you’re  _ dying _ .”

“I know.” Jon smiled. 

He was thankful he couldn’t see the look on Martin’s face, but he knew exactly what it was. Barely holding it together. 

“It’s ok,” Jon reassured him, “this was my choice.”

The last time he’d made a choice like this, it was because he’d been afraid to die. Jon knew, cut off now from the Eye as he was, he faced a future of slowly starving to death. Without Fear, he would wither away and eventually become nothing. It would be long and painful but it would only be  _ his  _ suffering.

“I will die, but I will die as me, not as a tool of The Eye. And you will live. You can stop this.”

“How do you know I can save the world?”

Jon sighed. “I don’t. But you saved me.”

“I what?”

“You saved me, Martin. You were what pulled me from The Buried, how I stayed human despite everything. And now you’ve helped save me for the last time.”

Martin drew him in closer and Jon returned the tightness of his embrace.

Jon spoke quietly. “Do you remember the last time we were like this? Back at the cabin?” 

Martin nodded, then remembered Jon couldn’t see him. “Yes.”

Jon smiled. “All you wanted to do was to save the world. And, I suppose, to save me from myself.”

Martin snorted a laugh. “That was definitely part of it.” He gently stroked Jon’s hair as Jon absently rubbed his thumb and forefinger over the hem of Martin’s jumper, a habit he’d picked up when they were in what was then still Scotland. 

“You were ready to take this on long before I was. You’ve got this,” Jon said emphatically. “Besides, you really can’t stay here much longer. Even though you’re not technically of The Eye, I don’t think it’s wise to stay this far away for so long.”

Martin couldn’t disagree, he’d felt his stomach growl multiple times when he’d been tending Jon’s eyes and he’d nearly drifted off to sleep waiting for him to wake up. 

“I just don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to do this alone.”

“But you  _ will _ .” The way Jon said it with pure conviction and trust left no room for doubt in either of their minds. As much as Martin may not have wanted to, he knew he would.

Jon fished into his pocket, feeling the weight of the lighter there. He ran his thumb over the spiderweb design engraved on it before pulling it out and feeling for Martin’s hands. He pressed the lighter into his palm. “Take this. I don’t know if it will be any help, but it feels right that you should have it.”

Martin took it, studied the design for a moment, then placed it in his own pocket. “Thank you.”

“Oh, and take a tape recorder with you,” Jon added. “When you go to face  _ him _ .” 

Jon felt Martin straighten slightly. “I thought they were y'know, an Eye thing.”

Jon shook his head. “They're not, they're a... they're  _ not  _ an Eye thing. Just take it, promise me you'll take it.”

“Ok Jon, I promise.”

Jon finally relaxed again, slumping down more onto Martin. “I wish I could go with you. I wish I could wait for you even, but I'm so tired. The Eye will watch over you now; it's grown  _ fond  _ of you. You'll have some protection. You'll need it.” 

“Where do I even start?”

“You can see the Panopticon. Keep heading towards it. You can move through the domains as we’ve been doing. The other Avatars can’t touch you and with me gone, well, you’ll be able to move faster. I don’t know what happens when you get there. I never did. That part of the plan was always going to be something we’d have to ...improvise. But you’ve always been better at that than I have.”

Martin thought back to the corkscrew and hidden extinguishers in the Archives with a chuckle. “Alright, I’ll give you that.”

Jon hummed a laugh, sounding increasingly tired. “You can do this,” he repeated.

Martin felt a warm glow of confidence swell in his chest and he fully believed him. 

“I’m sorry, I want to talk more, but I’m just so tired.”

“It’s ok, Jon, just rest now. I’m here.” He went back to stroking Jon’s hair as Jon lay back against his chest, curling into him once more.

Martin felt Jon’s breathing start to even out again and he made his resolve to leave as soon as he could. He would finish this. He had nothing more to lose.

“One more thing?” Jon asked softly.

“Anything.”

“Before you go - stay with me awhile? Just until I fall asleep.”

“Of course.” Martin kissed the top of his head, pressing his face into his dark hair. Tears rolled silently down his cheeks. “I love you, Jonathan Sims.”

Jon smiled and sighed with a resolute and peaceful finality. “And I love you, Martin Blackwood.”

“Good night, Jon.”

Martin waited until Jon was completely still and silent, then carefully extracted himself from his embrace. He made sure Jon was comfortable, placed one of the tape recorders in his backpack and set off into the unknown. 


	20. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Transcript from the tape containing the final recordings of Martin Blackwood and Jonathan Sims.  
> No 31. TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE - Left for Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Implied Major Character Death.

[TAPE CLICKS ON]

I don’t know if you still listen to these, or if you can even still hear them, but I’m going to say it anyway, just in case you do. And for me. As something to remember me by. 

I’m sorry I couldn’t stay until the end… but really, this  _ is  _ the end isn’t it? Once I’m gone… well, once I’m gone, you can go too. God knows you’ve been holding on so long.

I’m going to fix this. 

I love you. 

Goodbye, Jon. 

[TAPE CLICKS OFF]

-

[TAPE CLICKS ON]

_ The Archivist remains alone now, but it is weak. There is no way for it to Watch, to See. The Eye’s nurturing gaze has been severed and it is only a matter of time before the Archivist will wither away to nothing. The Archives will be lost forever and the Beholding’s influence on the world will begin to diminish, a key link now broken. If the Other is successful, there is a chance the entities will relinquish their hold on this barren world, but the Archivist, cut off as it now is, does not care what the outcome is.  _

_ Somewhere deep down, some tiny thread of hope remains clinging to the inside of the ribcage that the Other will succeed and humanity will persist and the Archivist will be allowed to die.  _

_ The Archivist wants it to be like falling apart, being laid bare before the world, illuminated inside and out and finally known, the way it was always meant to be known.  _

_ But instead it will be like silence. _

-

I love you too, Martin.

Good luck.

[TAPE CLICKS OFF]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a fun whumptober - a bit of a rush in places trying to get things out on time, but I'm pretty happy with what we ended up with.   
> I wasn't taking it too seriously, and I hope everyone who read all the way through enjoyed it.  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
